


To Kill a Jitterbug

by thejamesoldier



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Bucky Barnes Feels, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Love, Reader-Insert, Relationship(s), Sex, Slang, Smut, Touching, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejamesoldier/pseuds/thejamesoldier
Summary: He was just a greasy poor boy who worked at the docks, and you were just a rebellious rich girl who had the world on a silver platter. Tale as old as time.





	1. Lovely Things Don't Always Sparkle

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I had way too much fun writing this omg. This time period is so exciting to explore from the slang, the fashion, and the culture (apart from the suppression of women and sexualities obviously); and 1940′s Bucky is the bane of my existence so.

 

* * *

 

  **Prologue** : Yep, Bucky has definitely fallen in love with you. And he’s only seen you three times including today. What insanity, what  _beautiful_ insanity. 

 

* * *

  

Bucky attempts to swipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his equally sweaty forearm. With a frustrated huff he tucks his chin in further so he can wipe his forehead off on his dirty sleeve rolled up to cuff above his elbows. This time the sweat clings to his greasy shirt sleeve instead of smearing into his eyelashes. 

The sun beats down on Bucky’s back as the day slowly churns into evening. An ocean breeze sympathetically brushes it’s cool fingers through his wet bangs that hang carelessly into his eyes and billows his sticky shirt off his chest. He’s been working all day and all week and all year, the work never stops. But the second he starts to complain he remembers why he is doing all this. 

He has to feed himself and more importantly  _Steve_. He has to get enough money to buy Steve’s inhalers and medicine. 

Bucky always finds a renewed sense of urgency after those thoughts cross his mind. 

“You doin’ anythin’ later aye Buck-boy?” One of Bucky’s friends Jim calls to him from a few yards away, carrying a large metal pole over his shoulders. “Some of the fellas and I are gonna hit the town,” Jim grunts as he carefully rolls the heavy weight of the cylinder off himself and down onto a stack laying by his feet.

Bucky chuckles and grabs his grease rag that he tucked in his back pocket, rubbing dirt from his palms and who knows what else that smeared under his fingernails from hauling crates of goods from the most recent ship onto the docks. Slapping the rag back to hang over his shoulder when he got as much wiped away as he could, he hollers back,

“Dunno Jimbo, you plannin’ on findin’ me a cookie to dance with?” Bucky chucks a lopsided grin over his shoulder at Jim before turning back to the work in front of him.  

He hears Jim’s responding cackle accompanied by more metal clanking from the poles as Bucky hops down from the side of the large crate he just helped finish carting out, waving a signal to the fella in the crane that everything was secure. 

“You know it ace! I’m always lookin’ for a hoofer that can cut a rug as good as you man,”  

Bucky reaches Jim’s side and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against a tall wooden crate that one of the cranes pulled out this morning. He watches Jim bend back up from placing yet another pole in the pile before wiping his brow much like Bucky did.

“Where ya plannin’ to go?” Bucky asks as he chews on some stale gum he snagged from one of the boxes of goods earlier in the day. 

“The usual speakeasy, dunno,” Jim shrugs and starts patting down his pockets. He pulls out a pack of Lucky’s and slides one out before offering the box to Bucky. 

Bucky smiles and takes out two, sticking one behind his ear for later and putting the other in his mouth after spitting his gum out. Jim lets him take more than one knowing Bucky has it rougher than him and usually works two jobs  _and_ is head of his house for someone so young. Bucky waits while Jim lights up with his box of matches before good-naturedly tossing the box to Bucky. Bucky strikes a match in one swipe and lights up his cig too. 

The get a few puffs in before continuing their planning, 

“I’ll go but only if I can bring–,”

“Steve?” Jim interrupts knowingly, eyeing Bucky through his mini cloud of smoke. “Course you can man, the kid’s good company.” 

Out of all Bucky’s friends (apart from Steve of course who Bucky views more like a brother than anything else), Jim is the best. He saw past Steve’s exterior ailments and appreciated the blonde’s snarky remarks and stubborn rebellious fire that everyone else overlooked. Jim didn’t feel the need to tear Steve down to make himself feel better like so many other guys did, Jim was a good man.

“Thanks Jimbo,” Bucky says while reaching forward and clapping Jim’s shoulder. 

“Alright alright,” Jim shrugs him off, mumbling around the cigarette he holds between his lips as he speaks. ”We’re meetin’ at the usual place, 8 sharp.” 

“You got it, last one there’s a rotten hen fruit!” Bucky exclaims as he stalks off to finish his work. 

–

“I don’t think we should be doin’ this,” Your friend hushes in your ear as you walk down the dirty Brooklyn street arm in arm. 

“Oh hush Mary it’ll be fun!” You whisper back excitedly as you make your way to one of the bars you heard has the best dancers in New York. 

“This don’t look like our kinda place though,” Mary says as you approach the entrance that’s glowing with light, smoke, laughter, live music, and the smell of booze. 

“Oh stop bein’ such a chicken,” You chide as you stop in front of the closed doors and two men in old worn suits stand guard looking down at the both of you. 

By their expressions you know  _they_ know you’re in the wrong part of town by your expensive dancing dresses, polished kitten pumps, perfect hair, fresh made up faces, and glittering clutches. 

“You dames know where you’re at?” One of them asks politely, sensing you have rich daddies that could do them in with a snap of their fingers if you’re harmed. 

Not women to take advantage of. 

“Yes sir,” You answer for the both of you as Mary cowers a little into your side, delivering your charming as all sin smile that always gets you what you want. 

The two men side eye each other for a moment before stepping aside and opening the doors for you, revealing a scene that puts gold sparkles in your eyes and a wide mouthed smile on your red lips. Men and women with sweat making their skin glow and clinging to the backs of their necks dance full bodily to the loose live band trumpeting in the corner. Laughter and the sound of glasses clinking accompanies the beat of the music and the dancer’s feet pounding against the dance floor as they execute the jitterbug and the swing. 

You’ve never seen a place with such energy and vitality. All the parties –  _soirees_ – you attend are collected and calm, and no one dances like [ **this**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS5oCLXrQLs). Women being flipped and thrown over men’s shoulders and  _the women flipping and throwing the men over their shoulders too_. Your heart pounds in time with the upbeat drums and trumpets as you simply  _gravitate_ towards the dance floor. Something pulls on your arm and holds you back,

“Let’s just go this place is so unsophisticated and not what you described at all. You said it’d be sensible and fun! This is near anarchy!” Mary hisses at you and stays put a few feet from the doors you both just came through. 

You roll your eyes, “Mary how is this not exciting?  _Look_ at them! This is real dancin’ Mary, not the fox trot we always do–,”

“I  _like_ the fox trot! Not whatever savage movement this is!” Mary scoffs waving a perfectly manicured hand delicately at the dynamic dancers on the floor. 

“Mary it’s the Jitterbug and the Swing?” You respond with a quirked brow now slightly offended for the dancers at Mary’s narrow minded judgmental words. 

“Plus I think this is one of those dirty hooch bars, that’s definitely not punch.” You follow Mary’s line of sight to the bar and watch the bartender slide a short glass of dark looking liquid to a young man. “That’s it, we’re going home.” 

“No! I’m staying,” You exclaim in a strained whisper not wanting to call attention to yourself as Mary tries to haul you back out the doors. 

There is no way you’d leave now, not after seeing this kind of splendor.

“Fine then,  _I’m_ going home.” Mary declares as she rips her arm out of yours and turns on her polished heel for the exit.

“Please don’t tell my Daddy!” You call after her frantically grabbing her hand in yours before she can get too far.

Mary snaps her heated gaze back at you, sees the panic in your eyes and her expression softens. She sighs, knowing you wouldn’t be let anywhere without an escort for a year or worse if it got out you snuck out here.  _Especially_ to a place like this. Despite everything she was your best friend, or at least all you had in the snooty rich community your parents socialized with. Well, the  _only_ community your parents socialized with. 

“Fine,” She concedes defeatedly at the pleading look on your face, “But I  _better_ not read about your dead mugged body in the papers tomorrow.” Mary sneers as pettily as her doll face can manage before lifting her nose and stomping out.  

It takes you a second to realize that you’re on your own now. That you’re in a bar full of people in an entire different social class, a lower class, a ‘filthier class’ as your Father would say, than you. 

You smile.  _Freedom_.

Without any hesitation you make your way to the dance floor that takes up most of the bar, skirting around the edges of the space just watching, learning. The dancers have this infectious aura about them that just draws you in; ladies’ skirts flying, shoes banging, hands holding on tight, mouths open wide to draw air in, eyes alight with something so iridescent so untouchable its almost other worldly. It’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever been able to witness. It’s all so raw, so real, so genuinely  _happy_. The whole thing mesmerizes you. You would obviously need a partner if you wanted to dance, but you figure it shouldn’t be hard to acquire one. A pretty dame like you never has trouble pulling fellas. Your confidence falters a bit when you wonder if it’s just because you are rich, the allure of your Daddy’s money, that men line up for you in scores. 

“Ma’am?” 

You swivel around startled and come face to face with a humble looking fellow. He has a smudge of grease on his cheek and his dark brown coffee hair doesn’t look like its been properly washed for a month, but he delivers this  _gorgeous_ bright grin that touches his eyes which are steel blue –  _sharp –_ underneath a frame of charcoal lashes. His jaw is wide and strong, he’s got proud cheekbones despite his obvious lack of wealth, and a built lean body from long days of physical labor. He’s a dreamboat if you ever saw one and so much more handsome than any of the rich bachelors your parents have tried to set you up with. You return his grin with a careful smile of your own. 

“Yes?” Comes your answer as you lower your chin and eye him from under the shade of your lashes. You don’t know where all your usual boldness ran off to.

“I’m lookin’ for a dance partner, you see, and I saw you standin’ all by your lonesome starin’ at the hoofers on the floor, and thought I’d ask?

“Ask what?” You question dazedly, trying to pull your focus away from the movement of his lips curling around his thick Brooklyn accent and how his prominent jaw dances in the smokey light of the bar as it works out words. The accent makes him sound charming instead of uneducated.

“Do you wanna dance with me?” The man clarifies as a knowing smirk snares in one mischievous corner of his cupid bow lips when he notices you sort of staring. 

A blush blooms unforgivingly on your cheeks. 

You gulp against an ash-dry throat as your brain scrambles to register that this handsome young man in dark khaki pants, a loose dirty cream button up with sleeves shoved to his elbows, brown suspenders, and scuffed up old dress shoes asked  _you_ to dance with  _him_. You’ve never felt so speechless before, so lame and helpless in a social engagement. You’re usually the sauciest one at the party. Speak,  _SPEAK!_

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” You end up mumbling after a couple embarrassing beats of silence, blinking your eyes in quick flutter as your mind catches up with reality and your heart starts pounding in your ears. 

His winning smirk grows displaying neat white teeth and he leans down to hear you better, obviously intrigued. You ignore the fact that those lips are now a couple inches closer to yours.

“I’ve never been to a joint like this before, never danced like  _that_ before,” You motion with your hand, awe-struck, to the dancers on the floor still going at it. “So I don’t think I’d do you much good.”

The man seems to digest this information, his brows pulling together slightly over his handsome grin as he tries to politely re-evaluate your outfit.

“I know, I look like a ducky shincracker with my pretty dress and dancin’ shoes but I really only know the fox trot and other boring styles of the like. I may have lettuce but I don’t have moves.” 

The man appraises you for a second after your comment, his steel gaze following your blush that crawls down the exposed column of your neck. His grin never falters. 

“What’s your name doll?” The man asks as he cocks his head up a tick, his eyes twinkling playfully down at you over the edge of his nose. 

Your heart skips a couple beats at the pet name knowing it doesn’t mean anything but not used to being called that. People in your society found it to be improper and crude.

“Y/n.” Comes your answer, purposefully leaving out your last name. It’s pretty well known in New York and you wanted to remain anonymous, someone this man wouldn’t shy away from or act differently around because of a stupid name. 

“Well Y/n, I’m Bucky and I’d love to teach ya then,” The man – Bucky – offers in a charming way that seems to be natural for him. Bucky can’t ignore how lovely your name feels against the plush frame of his lips.  

You hesitate a moment at hearing your name in his voice, in that bass rustic accent. Before you can embarrass yourself further you fling all your fucks to the wind. You came here to have a good time and goddammit you will! And what better luck then to have the smoothest wolf in all of Brooklyn show you the ropes?

“Alright, Bucky,” You agree testing his own name on your tongue and finding you quite like the taste of it there. With a smile and a foxy glint winking in your eyes you watch his smirk blow up to a blinding grin that could probably power all of New York for a week. “But no funny business now, I’m your student and I really do wanna learn so you better take good care of me, you hear?” 

“Yes ma’am!” He mock salutes you before out right grabbing your hand and charging for the dance floor. 

Your heart shoots up your throat with all the excitement but mostly because his rough calloused hand feels strangely good against your smooth fingers and sensitive palm. The band starts up a [ **new song**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2S1I_ien6A), the drums and trumpets picking up a fast pace that has your heart plunging back into your rib cage and pumping in time with the rhythm of the music. You can barely contain the thrill that pulses through your veins and powers the brightness behind the smile that simply glows on your lips. 

Bucky still can’t believe he got a dame like you, eyes so  _dynamic_ and  _enigmatic_ , to dance with him, let alone teach a dame like you to dance like this. That means he gets to touch you and throw you and lift you and hold you and swing you around and, in a way, make you  _trust_ him. And Bucky wants to earn your trust, by God he  _craves_ it. He ignores the fact that he just met you and knows zilch about you, he has a good feeling about that sparkle in your eye and his instincts about people are never wrong.

“Okay,” You say under your breath on a shuddered exhale as Bucky takes both your hands in his and pulls you close. His hands look so tender holding yours as the obvious differences in skin tone (his browned a little from being in the sun and working outside and yours clear and clean, soft, delicate,  _breakable_ ) and texture point themselves out. It’s an insignificant picture --  _a detail_  -- that paints itself in your memory with golds and blushes and creams, forever paired with the feeling of being breathless and alive.  

“Just don’t stop movin! You gotta bounce like this!” Bucky yells over the cry of the band, wrenching your attention back to the present and on him as he shows you how to quite literally  _bounce_ on the balls of your feet to the quick beat. 

You copy him, picking it up fast without much issue, and with a cheeky grin Bucky starts leading you around the floor, using both of your momentum to swing your bodies in tight circles and cross each other.

“That’s it! You’re a natural, sugar!” Bucky praises loudly at you as he throws your weight around with a surprising amount of strength. 

A warm sappy feeling bursts in your chest at his words of praise but you keep that bashful smile of yours off your face, 

“I didn’t say I couldn’t dance, I said I wasn’t familiar with this style!” You tease before winking at him as he pulls you harshly towards his chest to switch sides. 

You two bop for another few exciting minutes before the music lowers into an interlude, the drums maintaining the beat but the trumpets taking a quick pause. You nod your head at a couple executing some fun looking flips and throws. 

“Teach me how to do one of those!” You call across the circle of both of your connected arms as he brings you once again back to his chest, this time keeping you pressed flush to him. 

It catches you off guard to have Bucky so close and have his handsome face an inch from yours. You glance down at his lips before you could stop yourself. Bucky smirks lopsidedly at you again, his chin tucks down to allow his gaze to meet yours head on. Those steel eyes make your insides melt and your heart squirm. You don’t know if its the drums or your pulse echoing in your ears. 

“Dunno dollface, you’ll have to trust me not to drop ya.” Bucky remarks with feigned unsureness and a shrug as the music starts picking up again and the trumpets begin to crescendo back in. 

“You won’t drop me,” You state as you tilt your head to the side a little with coy smirk. 

“How do you know?” He simpers, beaming wide at your statement while his eyebrows pull down slightly over his sportive irises. 

“Your hands don’t wanna let go of me as it is, I’m sure they’ll catch me if I fall,” You sass before delivering him your award-winning smile, revealing a secret that lounges coquettishly in the corner of your mouth. 

You give Bucky a second to recover from your suggestive remark before boldly pulling out the big guns, 

“ _Plus_ ,” You pause, Bucky’s breath stops, “You think I’m pretty.” You send him a quick saucy wink for good measure.  

All fucks thrown to the wind right? 

Bucky is momentarily stunned into a dumb stupor. He exhales. Bucky is drooling for you now because  _hot damn_ , he’s met his match. 

“You bet your swanky kitten heels I do,” He easily flirts back, retaliating with his own trademark Bucky Barnes open-mouthed grin and sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek before jumping both eyebrows up at you to rival your sinful smirk and wink.

Bucky’s shit-eating grin doesn’t dim as he moves you, holding your hand at arms length,

“Alright sugar I’m gonna pull you in and you’re gonna jump right into my arms, knees up,” He instructs as the music breaks out into full chorus. 

You twirl into him when you feel him tug at your hand and you jump right into his awaiting arms, your knees tucked up into the cradle of his arms as told, and your hands fly around his neck. 

“Perfect,” He praises, eyes dancing up at you as the heat of one bare inner forearm presses through the fabric of your skirts against your shins and the other supports around your back.  You notice how, if you leaned forward, you could kiss his forehead. 

Bucky puts you down. 

“Okay next I’m gonna grab around ya here, like this,” Bucky details as he wraps his right arm almost completely around the front of your waist, the side of his right hip kissing your right hip, and your shoulders brushing slightly. You avoid his intoxicating eyes you can feel boring into your profile and just ogle down at his thick corded forearm fixed against your stomach. 

Your skin burns underneath your dress at every place he’s touching you. You’re simply on fire. 

“Now this is the fun part,” He reveals with a chuckle after catching himself admiring the elegant portrait of your face for a second too long. “You’re gonna swing those gams of yours around my bent back and down over my head.” 

You nod in understanding trying not to feel intimated by the couple near you doing what Bucky’s teaching you,  _perfectly_. 

“You have to keep your rear in contact with my back the whole time, until you ‘round over my neck. Got it darlin?” Bucky instructs clearly when he sees you eyeing a couple a few feet away.

“Yes Bucky,” You answer as you shake yourself mentally and meet Bucky’s searching gaze determinedly.  

“Why don’t we practice it once slow, at your pace, before we do it in time with the music?” He offers with a reassuring smile, watching some of the tension leave your shoulders when you register his words. Bucky secretly  _preens_ at the thought that he can calm you down, that he has that effect on you. Actually he’s happy to have  _any_ effect on you.  

You give a curt determined nod before positioning yourself at arms length from him again, locking gazes with Bucky and waiting for him to cue you in with a tug. He does and he tosses you effortlessly over his shoulder and you scoot over his bent back the way he instructed and slide smoothly off his lowered head. 

“That’s it doll you got it first try!” He exclaims when you both right yourselves. Bucky has the sudden urge to kiss you. He doesn’t indulge it. “Why don’t we put it all together? The trumpets are callin’ our names,” Bucky encourages warmly as he helps you set up for the whole mini sequence. 

The toss wasn’t as hard as you thought it’d be but it was  _way_ more fun than you originally guessed, which is saying something. You suddenly can’t  _wait_ for Bucky to teach you all the lifts and throws and tosses he knows, can’t wait, you realize, to spend more time with Bucky in general. The band starts up in another fanfare and Bucky nods at you with a flare in his eye and an increasingly familiar grin catching at his lips, before twirling you in. You execute the moves in perfect sync.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You land on the balls of your feet with a big fat smile on your mouth and a loud carefree peel of laughter falling from your lips from the adrenaline. Bucky matches your happiness with a radiant chuckle of his own before he starts leading you around the floor once more. This time at certain intervals of the music he’ll nod at you knowingly and you’ll break out your new trick. You’re pretty sure you haven’t ever had so much fun in your entire life. 

You never wanted the song to end but it eventually did. When the band finishes off the song with a brilliant bang of trumpets and drums the whole bar erupts in enthusiastic applause. You clap earnestly along, so thankful for such wonderful music that gave you the opportunity to dance with Bucky and will be the soundtrack to such a precious memory. The applause dies down and you turn to Bucky who’s --

Already looking at you. 

“Can I get you a drink?” He suggests in a quick fluster, covering up the fact that you caught him staring, with a hopeful spark shooting across the steel blue skies of his irises like a comet. 

“No,” You respond watching his crest fallen reaction smugly before continuing, “But I can get  _you_ one.” 

Bucky’s face lights back up like a struck match with that cheeky grin lifting the apples of his cheeks. He dips his head a little and lifts an arm as if to say ‘lead the way’. You flick your hair off the back of your neck as you walk past him and lead the both of you over to the bar, quite out of breath and feeling very warm. A cool beverage sounds like a god send at the moment. 

When you reach the bar counter you see Bucky preparing to order but you cut in first, “I’ll have your most expensive scotch straight up on the rocks please and a glass of your cleanest water.” 

Bucky’s mouth is frozen open as he watches you lean against the ledge of the bar counter and smile politely up at the bartender. The man behind the counter blinks, a little shocked, before glancing at Bucky and quickly preparing your order. 

“And I’ll have your  _cheapest_ liquor with your  _complimentary_ faucet water.” Bucky says around a smile not taking his eyes off yours. 

An almost guilty smirk grows on your lips as Bucky continues to eye you in a teasing way that says ‘ _how subtle you are_ ’. When you both get your drinks you down the water in one long gulp before skulling back at least half of the glass of scotch. 

“What?” You challenge Bucky when you notice him smirking slyly at you behind his own glass of liquor. “You think a rich dolly like me can’t drink?” 

He pulls the glass away from his lips, swallowing his sip before shrugging and shaking his head, “I didn’t say nothin’,” 

You lower your lashes in a mock glare as you take another swig, more lady-like than the first one. Bucky’s coy smirk stays put,  _deepens_ , at your expression and he takes another pointed drink of his beverage. When the bartender returns from helping another fella you reach discreetly under your skirts and grab your clutch you tucked securely into a garner your mother got you, and cash out a couple dollar bills, covering both Bucky and your drinks. 

“You don’t have to--,”

“You got a problem with a dame payin’ for you?” You goad as you polish off your drink and raise a daring eyebrow at him. The alcohol seems to have given you quite a mouth as it splashes hot and tingly in your belly.

Bucky bites his lower lip to try and stop his grin from digging so deeply into his cheeks. Again, he shakes his head no while holding eye contact with you.

“Good,” You smile innocently while cocking your head up a little, feeling the warmth from the alcohol buzz under your skin. 

Bucky honestly can’t believe you exist. You’re too beautiful, too bold, too strong, too perfect. 

“You wanna meet a couple of my friends?” He finds himself asking out of seemingly nowhere. 

Bucky has the sudden intense desire for you to meet Steve. He wants Steve’s impression of you, he wants Steve to  _approve_ of you. It’s also a way for him to test you, see if you’re really as good as you seem depending on how you treat his best friend. 

“Okay,” You answer slowly after running all the possible outcomes of the situation in your head. “Are they here, in the bar?” You inquire, making sure Bucky doesn’t take you to some abandoned warehouse or something. He doesn’t seem like the type to do that but a gal can never be too cautious. 

“Yeah they’re just over at that table there,” Bucky supplies happily pointing to Steve, Jim, and a couple of the guys boozing in the corner. 

You follow Bucky’s finger and see a group of humble, friendly looking men and don’t hear any warning bells in your head so you nod and allow Bucky to lead you over to them. When you stop in front of the table you give them all a polite smile. 

“This is Y/n fellas, I’ve been teachin’ her a few moves this evenin’,” Bucky introduces, “Y/n this is Steve, Jim, Will, and Carter.” 

You meet each of their eyes and nod a hello. A couple girls come over, giggling and squealing, to Jim, Will, and Carter and drag them off to the dance floor. Bucky’s three friends call their apology over their shoulders before laughing and trotting after the dames hauling them away. 

That leaves just Bucky, Steve, and you. 

“I’m gonna go get us another round, Steve want somethin?” Bucky offers with a clap of his hands.

“Nah Buck, I’m good.” Steve mumbles from his seat keeping his eyes determinedly on the curl of his artistic fingers in his lap.

“Y/n?” Bucky turns those beautiful eyes back to you. Your heart still jumps at hearing him say your name. 

“I’ll just take another water,” You smile and try not to blush when Bucky clarifies with a grin, ‘The  _cleanest_ water right?’ before turning and strutting back to the bar. 

You sit down in one of the chairs opposite of Bucky’s friend Steve. 

Steve is a small frail looking thing, but he’s handsome, undeniably so despite his short height and skinny physique. He’s got thin blonde hair that glows gold in the light of the bar, strong cheekbones frame a sharp long nose that hovers above decent lips supported by a sturdy chin. His eyes shine like stubborn circlets of stormy ocean waging war against whatever they land on, against the world. He sits into himself like he wants to mold into the wall, but you find him strangely intimating. Those eyes are dangerous, there’s  _fire_ hidden in those cornflake blue irises shaded behind long lashes. 

Steve’s also a little awkward, you note, as he makes no attempt to speak to you and only side eyes you once. 

You can handle awkward. 

“So you’re one of Bucky’s friends?” You ask conversationally -- _determinedly_ \-- trying to feel out Steve’s relationship with Bucky.

Steve startles a little like he’s surprised you even spoke to him, before gathering his wits and brushing his golden bangs up his forehead, “Y-yeah, real good pals.” 

He still doesn’t turn to meet your gaze. You try again, undeterred.

“You’ve known him a long time then?” 

“Since we were kids.” 

Still no eye contact, so you try a little humor.

“Aren’t you still kids?” You suggest with a light chuckle.

“Can’t afford to be like you.” Steve states matter of factly and with seemingly no filter.

You pause at his jab, trying to determine whether or not it was meant to hurt you or he’s just an honest guy, strictly genuine in that rare way people tend not to be nowadays. Before you could figure it out yourself Steve gasps and finally turns to face you. Panic and regret swirl frantically in those blue eyes,

“Oh I-I didn’t mean it like that! I didn’t, not that you’re, not that you’re a kid and we aren’t--,”

“Steve,” You giggle and lightly place a friendly hand on top of one of his flailing ones effectively shutting him right up, “It’s alright. You were just being honest, there’s nothin’ wrong with that.”  

Steve seems to malfunction as he stares with wide eyes down at your hand laying over his. You interpret it as discomfort and remove it politely before placing it safely back in your lap. He seems to boot back up at the loss of contact and shyly meets your gaze.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound so -- it was unecessary,” Steve tries to apologize again with his tone sounding so much different than it did a second ago, small, unimportant. Wrong. 

You shake your head no, “It’s fine Steve, really. You were just saying things how it is, I  _respect_ that in a man.” 

Steve blushes at your words but tries to cover it up by running his fragile looking fingers through his golden fringe again, must be a nervous habit. There’s a couple more beats of silence as you wait to see if Steve will say something or not. You’re about to comment on the wonderful band when Steve speaks up. 

“So Bucky taught you some moves?” 

You smile brightly at his attempt to keep the conversation going as Steve keeps his eyes skittering around, landing literally everywhere but your face. He has most of his body directed at you though. It’s progress.  

“Yeah! The real hotsy-totsy stuff.” You remark playfully, “Don’t think I’ve had so much fun in my life.”

“Buck’s a real hoofer, he’s the best in all of Brooklyn I reckon.” Steve comments with a sort of brotherly affection. It makes your heart coo and surprisingly clench with loneliness. You’ve never had a friend like Steve and Bucky seem to be for each other, their bond obviously strong and positive. 

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” You agree and flash Steve a friendly grin when he finally let’s his eyes glance at you before bashfully slipping back away after a second. “So do you dance?” Comes your continued attempt at trying to keep the conversation alive not out of fear that you two will fall into silent awkwardness, but because you find that you genuinely want to get to know more about Steve. 

That honest flare of his got you hooked.

“Not much of the dancin’ sort ma’am,” Steve responds in a fluster as he readjusts himself in his seat. 

“Would you dance with me if I asked?” You inquire curiously, wondering what to say to get his full attention back on you. 

In a way you didn’t want Steve’s attention, you wanted Steve to  _approve_ of you. And not for any reason other than you liked him and respected his perspective of the world, and if he showed interest in becoming your friend than that meant your good, good in his eyes. In true eyes, honest eyes, genuine eyes. He’d respect you and due to some unknown desire, you craved that. You were so use to being surrounded -- _suffocated_ \-- by deceit and shams and lies that Steve and Bucky were like a breath of fresh air. 

“Well I, you seem like you cut a rug much fancier than I could manage, ‘specially since you’ve been boppin’ with Bucky.” Steve answers sort of cryptically going back to fiddling with his fingers. 

“You don’t think you’re good enough to dance with me?” You clarify as you try to keep the disbelief out of your tone. How could someone with such a seemingly pure moral compass not apply those same values to himself? Not allow himself the confidence he deserves?

“Well I-I mean, uh, yeah.” Steve discloses with a painfully genuine amount of self-hatred. 

“Don’t give me that applesauce!” You exclaim absolutely endeared and charmed but more so saddened by his obvious lack of self-esteem.

“Ma’am?” He jumps with an obvious startle, finally giving you his full attention again; his eyes are wide and his mouth is open a little and askew with shock at your slightly heated tone.

“Steve, please call me Y/n, you’re makin’ me feel old with the ma’am thing.” You sigh, exhaling all the frustrated fumes out of your system, as you calm yourself down and remind your heart that you’ve only just met Steve and to keep the protective urges on the downlow. 

“Sorry ma--  _Y/n_.” Steve obliges, blinking hard as he corrects himself.

You send him a hopeful friendly smile at hearing him say your name, not expecting to get one back, but when Steve’s lips raise at the corner cautiously and return the gesture your own expression grows in triumph. Before you can say anything more Bucky appears in front of the both of you. 

“Poor bartender, fella’s completely swamped.” He supplies with nod of his head in the bar’s direction as he hands you your water and takes a seat beside you at the table, sending a private coded glance at Steve letting him know that they’ll discuss you later. 

The bartender wasn’t swamped at all but Bucky wanted to give Steve and you ample time to make acquaintance before returning. He half expected to return to a conversation in shambles and on fire or awkward silence, but was thoroughly and pleasantly surprised to see you both smiling at each other. 

\--

The clock behind the bar strokes ten to twelve. 

“I should probably get going,” You regretfully inform Bucky and Steve who you have been happily chatting with and getting to know for the past few hours. 

Sometimes the band would play a song and Bucky’d insist you come dance it out with him, and how could you say no to his smile and the opportunity to be close to him. You’d go and both return to Steve afterwards with water in your hands and beaming expressions on your faces. You asked Steve if he’d dance with you once but he’d flat out said no, albeit politely but, no, thank you. You tried not to take it personally and let Bucky swing you away to the dance floor instead. 

“You sure you have to blast so soon?” Bucky tries to ask coyly as he and Steve both stand when you do from the table. Bucky is scrambling to think of a way to make you stay, just a little longer. 

“No,” You shake your head wondering how long the cab ride home will be and if you’ll make it back home before your strict curfew. “Cinderella’s gotta pumpkin carriage to catch.” You tease playfully, trying desperately to hide the sheer disappointment of having to go home from bleeding into your irises, to go back to your cage of expectations and ‘proper behavior’. 

“Well lemme at least walk ya home then doll,” Bucky offers with a hopeful smile when he sees you won’t be persuaded to stay. He’s comforted though by the pained, regretful look in your eye at the thought of having to leave.  

“You can walk me to a cab,” You suggest sheepishly, “We’d never make it before dawn if we walked.” 

Bucky registers that you really aren’t from around town. He figured as much by the multiple dollar bills in your clutch and how you stood out like a shinny new penny with your fancy dress and proud rolled back shoulders, but it hit’s home now. Bucky panics when he realizes he probably won’t see you around, won’t spot you at the local market on Saturday, or sit next to you in a pew at church on Sunday, or cross the street to walk beside you tomorrow. A whole new problem arises:  _how will he see you again?_  And my God he has to. 

“Alright,” Bucky concedes and nods at Steve as he places a large warm hand against the small of your back and leads you out the doors. 

He frantically wracks his brain of ways to see you again when you step out of the safe warm bubble of the bar and into the slightly chilly night air of reality. You trot towards the street and look up and down the length of black pavement for a cab. 

When a cab does appear, turning down the street up ahead and you move to wave it down, his lungs tangle tight around each other and his heart squeezes painfully in the shuttering cage of his ribs,

“How can I see you again?” Bucky calls louder than he meant to, what with you so close and the night so silent, trying to be louder than the doubts battering around in his mind. 

You jump a little at his volume but his voice doesn’t hold a candle to your screaming heart tearing itself raw trying to fit through the bars of your ribcage and stay tucked away safe in Bucky’s rough, calloused hands. As you turn around to face him the lights of the bar behind Bucky’s back light up your face with a golden hue, making your eyes look so bright and beautiful and your face glow. He’s once again stunned by you. His urgency and panic increases. 

“I-I’m not sure,” You stutter out as you shuffle your brain for reasons--  _excuses_ \-- to come back to this part of town. Your parents thought you and Mary were at a friend’s house tonight, you were already lying. But you knew you had to see Bucky again, you simply must. 

Bucky steps up close crossing the symbolic and physical void between you as the cab headlights throw harsh beams of yellow against the side of your faces. He swallows his pride.

“Please, Y/n I, I wanna see you again.” 

You stare up at him, memorizing every detail of his handsome face. The glow of the bar behind him sets this halo of gold around his head, making him seem ethereal,  _godly_ , to you. He transcended every one of your expectations, and continues to leave you breathless after each new precious moment he gifts you. Bucky’s eyes are your favorite feature apart from those lips of his and that strong jaw. They’re endless wells of glittering mystery, two steely oracles shrouded by drapes of ashy lashes that only predict beautiful, kind things. You’re close enough to feel the light caress of his breath on the bridge of your nose. He’s so  _close_. You’ve never been so close to someone before, never  _kissed_ anyone before (you don’t count kissing cheeks in greeting). Bucky’s hands are a warm and now happy familiar presence around your waist, your body already aches for them knowing they’ll gone soon. His calloused palms scrape a little against the soft fabric of your dress, silk catching on dried blistered skin. You shiver. With a spark of courage fueled by the adrenaline of your impending departure, you reach up and run your fingers lightly threw his floppy bangs curling a little at the ends from sweat.

“I’ll find a way to come back, promise.” You practically whisper, your fingers lingering along the side of his jaw as they drop from his hair. The cab comes to a stop at the curb behind you. They honk. 

 _I’ll find a way to come back,_ Is all Bucky’s brain is comprehending at the moment aside from your delicate fingertips kissing the cliff of his jaw. 

“Kiss me?” You request breathlessly as your world narrows, everything going mute and your vision tunneling so you only register Bucky in front of you. 

Without a beat of hesitation Bucky leans down the short distance and presses his lips steadfastly to yours.

The kiss is chaste as Bucky tilts his head slightly and he pulls you against him firmly -- inexorably. You wrap your arms up and around his neck tight and simply  _sigh_. The sanctuary of his lips feels like fireworks, feels like champagne bubbles, feels like the sun against your skin, feels like an ocean breeze in your lungs, it feels like home. 

The cabbie honks at you louder and multiple times. 

You suffocate the whimper in your throat when you force yourself to pull back from him. Bucky keeps his lips just an inch from yours, your noses brushing like a promise as you both breathe heavily and not from lack of air, no. Your shared breathlessness comes from the feeling of  _woah_ that strikes you both dumb. 

“I’ll come back to you,” You hush against his lips as your eyes jump back and forth between his in a frantic goodbye. 

Before Bucky can respond you’re breaking yourself free from his embrace and rushing into the cab. His arms immediately ache with the ghost of your warmth as he watches you tuck into the cab and close the door. The panic returns with a painful stab in his gut because now he really has to see you again. No dame has ever made him feel like  _that_ with just a simple kiss. Bucky sees you scrambling to roll the window down in the backseat as the car starts moving away from the curb. He jogs like a well trained dog beside the cab trying to give you the chance to say one last thing. Bucky doesn’t give a rat’s ass about how desperate he probably seems because you look equally desperate struggling with the window. 

The car speeds up. 

“Wait for me!” Comes your call when you do finally manage to wrangle the window down enough to let your words out of the back of your throat before the cab turns the corner. 

Bucky can’t keep up with the vehicle even running, leaving him on the corner of a dark lonely Brooklyn street with nothing but the echo of your voice in the air and an intense tingle buzzing on his lips to keep him company. 

You swivel back around in the backseat long after you were able to see his silhouette out the window. Biting your lip you try not to cry as the darkness of the cab surrounds you like an unwanted cold hug. You don’t know why you  _want_ to cry, you  _never_ cry. You’ve just met Bucky and the fact that your usually locked up heart has latched on so quickly, so  _tightly_ , is kind of concerning. And it’s not like you won’t ever see him again, it’s just against all odds that you will. Your bottom lip quivers. 

“Where to Miss?” The cab driver gruffs in a thick Irish accent. 

You know you’ve just made the driver’s night when you give him your address.

Steve takes in the look on Bucky’s face when he appears back in the bar and realizes he’s never quite seen it before. It’s new. It startles Steve a little because he knows  _all_ of Bucky’s faces. 

“What’re you sulkin’ about for?” Steve chides when Bucky reaches their table, slowly gathering his things and ignoring Steve as he turns to leave. 

Steve’s eyebrows cinch low over his baby blues and he trots quickly after Bucky following him out the doors and starting on the walk back to their apartment. The blonde thinks things over for a minute, still a bit alarmed at Bucky’s strange new behavior. His best friend is never this quiet about dames. Bucky is never this quiet about  _anything_ for that matter. 

“She didn’t kiss you goodbye or somthin?” Steve prompts while intensely studying his best friend’s profile, trying to feel out what’s got his Bucky in such a wacky mood. 

Bucky shakes his head no and keeps his eyes down on the pavement with that new expression still cinched tight on his face. Steve can’t read it. The blonde huffs internally with his own inadequacy and watches Bucky kick a stray pebble out of his path. 

“So she did kiss you goodbye?” Steve then tries. 

Bucky throws a suffering look at him. 

“Well hey pal I’m just tryna figure out what’s got your horsefeathers in a knot!” Steve exclaims as he holds his hands up in surrender. “I mean ya didn’t even say g’night to Jim and the fellas,” 

Bucky’s face draws a blank as he realizes this and then shakes his head of black locks in a self-reprimanding kind of way; they continue home. Steve’s face softens as he tears his lazer gaze away from Bucky and walks along side his friend for a few quiet minutes. 

“I liked her.” 

Bucky snaps his head over to  _Steve’s_ profile this time, grey eyes wide and huge in the light of the moon. When Steve lifts his gaze to meet Bucky’s he thinks Bucky looks so young with his eyes like that, almost innocent. A thought zings through Steve’s brain and he catches it but tucks it carefully away to evaluate later. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks with this terribly hidden hopeful glow to his face. 

Steve smiles warmly at that, appreciating the fact that Bucky values Steve’s opinion so much. He also picks up on the overflowing hope dripping from every pore of Bucky’s face. 

“Yeah Buck, she’s real sweet.” Steve assures kindly as he curiously eyes a strange glint flash across the horizon of Bucky’s irises. 

Bucky tries to wrestle a smile of his own off his mouth and attempts to hide this struggle from Steve by turning his attention back down to his feet scuffling along the pavement. The blonde rolls his eyes and gently shakes his head at how hopeless Bucky is. Steve sees right through him. 

\--

**A Month Later**

“Now sweetheart don’t you get all huffy with me, your Daddy picked him out special just for you.” Your mother tries to placate you as you sit crossed legged on the edge of your bed in your silk undergarments, refusing to leave your bedroom. 

“Mother I said I didn’t want Daddy to set me up with anymore of his coworkers’ sons.” You retaliate as calmly as you can. This is the  _seventh_ man this month.  

“Well who would you have us pair you with?”  _I can pick myself,_  “Your Daddy’s friends’ sons are all very respectable young gentlemen,”  _You mean cocky rich brats, “_  The fact that they have business relations with your Father only proves to you further how eligible they are!”  _You mean my eventual marriage to them would make Daddy more money,_  “Honestly, is there any other kind of man for you?”  _YES,_   _and his name is Bucky_. 

Despite every set back, you had tried and tried and  _tried_ to find ways to go back to that part of Brooklyn. And when you did manage to scramble together the right lie, the right timing, and the right circumstance, you got down there and never saw him or even Steve.  _Not once_. It devastated you each time you came back home without having seen him. You’ve never felt lonelier in your entire life. 

“Can’t I just go to the festival with Mary and Judith?” You beg your mother for the thousandth time trying desperately to find a loop hole and escape from the impending doom of your life.  

“No! You’re going with the young man your Father selected as your escort and that’s final!” Your mother suddenly shrieks having finally lost her cool after arguing with you for the past twenty minutes. “Now you  _will_ get dressed in that lovely number I bought for you, make up that pretty face I gave you, and march downstairs to meet that young man.” 

You feel so broken, so beaten --  _exhausted_ \-- of fighting to keep yourself alive, to keep that spark of vitality in your soul burning. You uncross your arms and fiddle with your shaking fingers in your lap. 

 _I just want Bucky,_ You think defeatedly,  _He’s probably forgotten me anyway._

“I don’t understand why you resist us so much, your Daddy and I have given you nothin’ but the best of everything, and this is how you thank us?” Your mother continues when she senses your surrender, smells the smoke of your burnt out flame. “You better control that ungrateful ugliness of yours young lady or so help me I’ll beat it outta you.” She berates in the usual threatening way she always does before she huffs and dramatically pivots on her polished heel, slamming your bedroom door muttering ‘spoiled child’ under her breath.

You’re alone. 

After dawning your dress and applying your make up as slowly as you could, you make yourself elegantly glide down the stairs and walk in slow motion towards the sitting room where you hear your parents and an unfamiliar male voice chatting pleasantly. You stop just before the door and close your eyes, you take a deep breath, put a fake smile on your face, and push into the room. 

\--

Bucky all but  _drags_ Steve out of the apartment on Saturday. 

“Steve come on its a festival! How can you not want to go to a festival?” Bucky teases as he runs a hand proudly through his freshly washed hair. It felt so satisfyingly soft from its usual greasy stiffness. 

Steve sighs stubbornly in the small foyer of their shared apartment at his friend’s words, and smooths out his Dad’s ironed old dress shirt and grey blazer, adjusting his tie nervously. 

“Cause Buck it’s not  _just_ a festival, you managed to round up two dames to go with us,” Steve sasses sarcastically as he moves his toes absentmindedly against the newspapers at the bottom of his shoes. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and pretends like he doesn’t feel the sharp twinge in his heart --  _Y/n_. 

“Oh come on it’s not gonna ruin the fun! It’s just a lazy casual sorta deal.” Bucky insists down at Steve, almost putting his hands on his hips at his best friend’s usual inexorable antics. 

“Why can’t you just go without me? I hate being the one holdin’ ya back and--,”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky interrupts firmly placing a wide hand on Steve’s little shoulder and shaking him slightly. He waits till Steve meets his gaze before continuing, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you. You don’t hold me back Stevie, how many times do I gotta tell ya that?” 

“Buck don’t serve me that applesauce, you  _know_ none of the dames you pick like me. I just, I know, I’ll find me a gal someday but I don’t understand why you keep puttin’ me through this.” Steve had been dragged on  _seven_ double dates this month. They started on about the third week of the month and only increased exponentially from there. Bucky’s strange need to go out almost every night baffled Steve. Bucky likes to have a good time but this was different. 

Bucky goes quiet and leans back from his friend suddenly finding the innate need to observe the cheap carpentry of the floor boards under his feet being splashed with late afternoon sunlight. Steve watches his friend’s walls shoot up. Bucky’s fingers twitch to do something, to somehow release the pent up emotion that’s been mercilessly chewing on his innards for a month now. Steve suddenly remembers that thought that had shot like a comet over the dome of his brain a month ago as he walked home with Bucky from the bar after that dolly, Y/n, left. That strange expression that was on Bucky’s face then reappears now. 

Steve carefully unwraps the thought he’d tucked away and kept safe and realizes -- oh. 

“You really liked that dame didn’t you,” Steve practically whispers as he analyzes that unreadable expression on Bucky’s face.  

Bucky flinches, honest to God  _flinches_. Steve  _knows_ Bucky knows  _exactly_ who he’s talking about. And suddenly it all makes sense. Steve’s lips part and he blinks. 

“Steve why you gotta bring her up right now? We’re, we’re g-goin’ to the festival with Molly and Dot and we’re gonna have a grand time ya hear?” Bucky rushes in a vomit of words falling clumsily from his usually charismatic lips. 

Steve watches how Bucky avoids his knowing blue gaze by fiddling with his pockets and things as he pretends to get ready to walk out the door. 

“I really liked her, Buck,” Steve pushes again, never one to give up, and looks for confirmation of his suspicions on his friend’s face. 

“You got your inhaler?” Bucky frantically tries to interrupt Steve as he hovers, trapped, in the small foyer facing the door. 

“And I think you really liked her too--,” 

“Alright let’s blast!” Bucky yells in this off key forced happy tone as he all but rips the front door off its cheap hinges and charges out into the dying glow of the day. 

_Bucky had fallen for that girl._

Steve sighs and follows Bucky out, turning around to calmly lock the door behind him before sticking his hands in his pockets and trudging dutifully after his best friend. The blonde shakes his head at how hopeless Bucky is. A surge of anger at that dame, at Y/n, flares hot and protective in Steve’s veins. She was the first woman to hook Bucky in so deeply and then completely forgot about him. What a bi--

\--

“So when I take my father’s place as owner of the company, it’ll gain much more stock and trade with the new plans I just explained. Isn’t it brilliant?” 

You hum noncommittally in answer as the young man your Daddy picked for you (you think his name is Huntington the Third or something) leads you around the festival on his expensive suit covered arm. He’s bragged about himself since the moment you met him so you quickly did what you do with your parents: you tune him out. You’re very good at pretending to be interested when someone’s talking while you really are checked out and hoping it’ll be all over soon. You practice this skill with everyone you speak to because everyone you speak to is either chosen for you, or is entitled to your company by the way of society. 

You’re quite literally in hell at the moment. 

The festival provides enough of a distraction though with all the booths and people to observe from your glass cage. You spot a little girl giggling happily on top of her father’s shoulders a ways off. It puts a smile on your face to see such bright faces. Their poor clothes do nothing to negate from their happiness as he spins around fast once or twice and the girl squeals with laughter while clinging to her father’s head to not fall off. 

“...And when you come see my Father’s office, which will be mine of course, I can show you the layout for the...”

A blonde head of golden hair glinting in the setting sun catches your eye next. It’s a frail skinny looking young man standing with his hands in his pockets, back facing you across the grassy lane lined with rows of booths. He’s standing behind two giggling dames hanging on either side of a taller young man with a head of black hair, shooting a rifle at glass milk jugs at the counter. 

You squint. 

The blonde man reaches up and seems to brush his bangs out of his face. Your heart stops and plunges down like a stone in your gut.  

“Hey darlin’,” You turn to Huntington and flash him your trademark smile, causing him to stop mid-sentence and smile down at you dumbly. “Would you be a peach and go see if you can find me a glass of water? I’m feelin’ a little thirsty after walking so much,” You lie easily and watch him wrap himself desperately around your dainty pinky finger. 

“Of course sweetheart, give me a minute. You stay here in the shade, I’ll be right back.” Huntington rushes to oblige with a wolfish smile. 

“Thanks sugar,” You coo and bat your eyelashes as he trips off to go find you some water. You’re glad to be rid of him even if for a moment, you almost want to scrub the skin of your arm clean where it touched him. 

The second he’s out of sight you try not to flat out sprint towards the blonde man. You try to school yourself into not hoping he is who you think he is, but fail royally. Politely, you make your way across the grass lane, weaving through the light stream of people and finally  _finally_ coming to a stop beside the blonde. When you confirm it’s him, it’s Steve, that sharp nose and those honest eyes giving him away, you wrestle the squeal of excitement from escaping your lips. 

“I think that huge teddy bear looks a little wacky, don’t you?” You causally ask Steve as you clasp your hands in front of your skirts and tilt your head up at the row of hanging plush prizes strung across the top of the booth. 

Steve jumps beside you and gives you not two, not three, not four, but  _five_ double takes. You keep your sights on the teddy bear you mentioned and can’t help the smile growing inevitably on your lips at his surprise. 

“Y-Y/n?” You hear him stutter out eventually. 

 _Oh no_ , Steve thinks wondering why fate was so cruel. Why would it bring Y/n back into their lives when Bucky was so desperately trying to distract his heart from her. Plus Steve’s prodding this morning was punishment enough for his best friend’s lonely soul. 

“What’re ya doin’ here?” He asks mock causally scrambling to find a way to fix this, to distract you from Bucky laughing with the flirty girls not a few feet in front of you. He knows his Bucky is gonna be real hurt when he sees you. 

Anger and disgust boils his loyal blood next. How  _dare you_  come back here to torture Bucky after  _you_ ignored  _your_ promises to him. Steve’s fury made him powerful, unafraid of conversing with you in an outright scathingly manner despite how he usually gets with pretty dames. 

“Is a gal like me not allowed at festivals?” You tease good naturedly, your eyebrows quirking a little in concern when you turn to face Steve and see a poorly concealed tick in his jaw and fire in those eyes.

It’s hot fire, mean fire, angry fire. You almost step back at the look, unaware of what you did to deserve such a hostile expression.

“Dunno you’re kind don’t usually fall from grace to mingle with the commoners,” Steve spoke in a nasty calm as his eyes bore into yours unflinchingly,  _punishingly_. “So how’s things with you? Haven’t seen you in a  _month_ or so if my memory serves,” Steve adds with an unashamed passive aggressive bite to his tone shoving you more off your kilter. 

You don’t remember him being this scalding, in fact you remember him being awkward and shy, no filter maybe, but not  _nasty_ like this. Steve’s stance is intimidating --  _protective_ \-- almost defensive and you’re not sure why. 

Your eyes drop defeatedly down to the safety of your hands against your skirts at his words. The smile on your lips long gone. 

“You know,” You start in a whisper before clearing your throat and forcing yourself to speak up. Steve had reduced you to a speck, stripped you down of everything you are with just words and his eyes. You were right to assume he was dangerous when you first met him. “I came down whenever I could, to the same part of town, practically every weekend. I seemed to miss you two each time I managed a chance to visit town,”

Steve stares you down even though you’re taller than him clearly unimpressed with your excuse. He doesn’t really believe you till your eyes lift up to meet his. They’re so  _vulnerable_ and  _lonely_. It strikes Steve stupid and catches  _him_ completely off guard. 

That look on your face, in those pretty eyes of yours, matches Bucky’s this morning.

When Steve recognizes this, all his resentment and fury towards you for breaking his best friend’s heart disappears like it was never there to begin with. The hot emotion flushing so swiftly out of Steve’s system he almost faints. The universe turns to the next page. With a start Steve finds himself diving off a cliff into an ocean of worry not just for Bucky but for  _you_ now. Steve wants to yank his thin blonde hair out because  _both_ of you are gonna get really hurt: you when you realize Bucky has two dates and Bucky when he sees you period. Steve scolds himself for caring so damn much. 

“Hey Steve!” Bucky calls unknowingly over his shoulder and does a double take when he spots you standing next to the blonde. His cheeky smile drops like a boulder. 

Your throat constricts and your lips part. Time stops. The setting sun pauses its descent into the horizon and bites its lip in anticipation while the clouds hold their breath. 

“Bucky?” You murmur in quiet disbelief at finally seeing him again in the flesh after spending a month avidly replaying his handsome face smiling down at you and his touch and his scent and the sound of voice and the infectious ring of his laughter in your mind. 

Bucky slowly turns around to fully face you with those wide steel blue eyes of his staring right back at you, seeming like he’s trying to determine if you’re really there. He sees you so often in his dreams he wonders if this is just a cruel joke his mind is playing on him. 

You both continue to just  _stare_. It’s all either of you can do. Steve looks helplessly between the both of you, suffering on the side lines as he watches your hearts writhe and crumble. 

“Hey Bucky win me that one,” One of the girls hanging on Bucky’s arm giggles obliviously and points at a prize above their heads. 

It shocks Bucky and you out of the spell you put each other under and a feeling that you realize is  _betrayal_ shoots like a spear deadly and sharp straight through your heart. Bucky’s here with a date,  _two_ dates. You know you don’t have any right to feel betrayed, Bucky was never yours to begin with, but in a large way you were his. Most of your thoughts and hopes and dreams were dedicated to Bucky. He was the only thing that made you happy and safe in the cold cage of your life. All you had, all you could cling to, were the fantasies you had about meeting him again. How you would run into his open loving arms and kiss him straight on the mouth as he flung you around like the star crossed lovers did in the cinemas. You imagined every type of reunion  _but_ this. For some reason you never fathomed that he would have moved on because you were so far from having moved on, so far from  _okay_. 

But it  _has_ been a month, and there was  _no way_ for you to let him know you were visiting town  _every_ weekend looking for him. You couldn’t blame him for trying to forget you, but that he  _has_ in fact moved on guts deep in your chest. 

It hurts like hell. 

You blink in a flurry trying to stop pathetic embarrassing tears from collecting in your eyes as you let out a watery unnerved chuckle, pointlessly adjusting the skirts of your dress around your hips. Steve watches you crumble like a beautiful castle with its high stone walls being brought down by fire and spears. His big heart bleeds for you and he wants to reach out and tell you it’s going to be fine, that Bucky still carries a damn big bright torch for you, not to worry. But he knows no one can fix this --  _fix you_ \-- apart from Bucky, who is currently still shocked and standing stiff as a statue. You panic as you start to lose the battle between you and your tears and begin backing away, the screams of your heart deafening your brain as you scramble to come up with an excuse to leave. 

Bucky still just stares, expression blank.  

Steve worries for a moment that Bucky is going to let you walk away when you turn after mumbling something unintelligible about having to go, but Bucky snaps out of it and lurches for your hand before you can escape. Steve quickly attempts to distract Bucky’s dates (or one of them was supposed to be his but whatever) and offers to pay for another round at the booth to let them shoot the rifle themselves. The girls begrudgingly let Bucky lead you a bit ways off and allow Steve to distract them.  

You feel those calloused fingers close around your wrist and pull you a few paces away from the booth to a spot of shade under a tree, the area relatively quiet and private. Your instincts to flee the situation only increase. Rolling your lips in to stop them from quivering, you lift your face to expose the vulnerability of your eyes to Bucky when you both are quiet and still for a moment. The expression on his face makes you jump: he’s  _furious_. 

“Why didn’t you come back?” Is his first scathing question, Bucky’s words positively  _dripping_ with anger -- 

 _He’s_   _hurt,_ You realize like a slap in the face. A sick sense of hope twists itself fiercely through the hollow halls of your heart. 

“I did!” You exclaim in a strained whisper, desperate to prove your faithfulness to him. His fingers haven’t left your wrist yet, you take that as a good sign. “I came back  _every_ weekend,  _every_ time I could sneak away,” You supply and try to step into Bucky’s space a little more, craving intimacy, but he moves back stiffly and drops your wrist from his fingers.

You barely contain the tidal wave of tears that crashes against the back of your eye sockets demanding to be released. 

Your wrist burns where he touched you. You want his touch back, you want  _Bucky_ back, you want to go back to that night and have  _that feeling_ back. The pure vulnerability shaking between the folds of your irises gives his anger pause. He recognizes the same lonely pain that has haunted himself for a month in the mirror of your pupils. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye when he turns slightly away from you, his spit fire assurance weakening greatly in the face of your blatant genuine pain. Bucky looks like he direly wants to believe you but  _doesn’t_. Your heart shatters in your chest, tiny fragments of stardust glittering in delicate turmoil.

“W-Where do you live?” You ask in an embarrassingly unsteady voice, your tears getting revenge on you by shaking up your words. He  _has_ to believe you, you’ll  _make_ him. “If I know a specific place to meet you then I won’t,  _can’t_ , miss you. Please, I want to come visit you--,”

“Pumpkin!” 

The leftover stardust fragments of your heart shudder and turns to even finer dust at the bottom of your ribcage when you watch the anger cruelly twist back onto Bucky’s face as he watches Huntington jog towards you with your water over your shoulder. 

“Who is that?” He all but snarls as rage and jealousy and betrayal light an unforgiving fire in his eyes again, turning his softening grey irises back into boiling pools of molten argent.

You’re too hurt and desperate yourself to pick up on the fact that Bucky’s this worked up over something as simple as a man calling your name. You don’t realize he’s as far down the rabbit hole as you are. 

“That’s just some fella my Daddy set me up with, Bucky please!” Your voice cracks and it grabs Bucky’s attention back to you like someone punched him in the gut. He sees the red and wetness starting to creep in and poison the color of your eyes. Bucky’s vulnerable heart melts its angry walls a little at the expression. “ _Please_ tell me where you live or a place I can meet you? Please Bucky, I wanna come see you,” 

Your eyes jump from eye to eye trying to gauge his response, to see whether or not he believes you. 

Bucky panics slightly seeing you so genuinely broken and knowing he’s running out of time as the man behind you gets closer. He shakes his head, berating his weak heart for falling so absurdly for a girl like you in the first place. Bucky tells himself he doesn’t need this,  _you_ , in his life. You’re just trouble and heart ache. He’s got enough to deal with as it is. 

With every ounce of willpower he has Bucky starts to turn away from you, ignoring the thrashing of his heart in his chest and the biting sting in every one of his nerves that demand him to stop. In a flash of fear and a last attempt at salvaging the one good thing, the one truly happy thing you managed to find in the grey fray of your life, you reach out and grab his hand. 

Your touch halts him with his back to you and his hand pulled behind him. His wrist and hand are being cradled so  _so_ carefully in both of your hands like the appendage might shatter if you held on too tight. 

 _No no no!_ Bucky’s mind screams at him,  _You won’t stand a fucking chance if she touches you._

“ _Please_ don’t leave me alone,” At this point you know you’re saying too much and to a practical stranger,  _and_ that you most likely sound over dramatic and sort of crazy. “Bucky I need you,”

“Who’s you’re friend sugarplum?” Huntington says as Bucky yanks his hand out of yours and turns back around to face the man settling close to your side, Bucky’s heart flares with a ridiculous amount of jealousy. 

You frantically yet discreetly wipe away a few tears that snuck out from your traitor eyes. 

“Huntington this is my friend Bucky,” You say with your best fake smile up at Huntington as you gesture to Bucky who has a similar fake expression on his face. With a start you realize you don’t know Bucky’s last name. It makes you impossibly sadder for some reason.

Huntington obviously sizes Bucky up, a rude almost disgusted look taking over his snobby face as he shakes the polite outstretched hand Bucky offered him. 

“Huntington Miller.” Huntington says through a poorly concealed sneer. 

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky responds easily enough immediately not liking Huntington’s rich entitled personality. 

“What kind of a name is Bucky?” Huntington jokes passive aggressively as he thrusts your cup of water into your grasp. Some of the liquid splashes out of the lip of the cup and wets a spot on your dress.  

Huntington notices and doesn’t apologize. Bucky’s hackles rise at the blatant disrespect towards you, towards a lady. 

You close your eyes at Huntington’s rudeness and cocky behavior knowing Bucky’s going to leave any minute now. I mean who in their right mind would stay? Essentially you prepare to live your life broken and blank, to become the perfect marionette doll that everyone always wished you would be. 

Bucky watches you carefully, observing how stiff you are next to Huntington. How startling quiet and detached you become. He’s never seen someone with walls as thick as yours that go up as quick as they did. It scared Bucky a little. He’s not scared of you but scared of how efficient you were at practically deleting yourself, scraping your normally dynamic eyes hollow of emotion. 

“It’s a nickname, my real name is James.” Bucky responds in an empty tone as he lifts his chin a tick. 

Bucky has a good inch or two on Huntington height wise, actually. 

“Ah! James, a good solid name, a  _man’s_ name. Which is why I assume you don’t use it.” Huntington jests with a threatening toothy smile. 

Battle of ‘Who Has the Bigger Stick’ has officially begun.  

Bucky’s eyes narrow a tick at the obvious insult but he does’t falter. In fact he ignores Huntington’s challenge and returns all his attention to  _you_. He watches you slowly fall apart piece by piece under the menacing shadow of Huntington’s side, and the fire he saw in your eyes that night at the speakeasy, the fire that he loves so much about you, is dimming by the second. His heart wrenches sharply in his chest and his blood runs cold when he notices that you’re not fighting to keep it alive,  _you’re letting it burn out_.  

_No, you don’t get to just give up like that. Not on his watch you won’t._

“What do you do, Huntington?” Bucky asks while keeping his eyes trained on yours, waiting for you to look up and return his gaze. 

You don’t. Your eyes stare blankly at the pulse point on Bucky’s neck. You absentmindedly wonder what it would taste like, how it would feel against the plush of your lips.

Huntington scoffs clearly offended at the fact that Bucky doesn't know who he is, 

“I am to inherit almost half of the stock trade market under the jurisdiction of my father’s company.” He boasts while puffing his chest out and delivering a cocky smirk at Bucky, finding himself impressive. 

“Oh, that’s swell. I work down at the docks, you know carting cargo and goods on and off the trade ships.” Bucky supplies in response as he hooks his thumbs under the bands of his suspenders near his chest, internally screaming at you to look up. 

 _Just look up, I told you where to meet me,_ Bucky silently pleads, _please just--_  

You look up. 

A light sparks the dying ember in your dim eyes when you catch on to the fact that Bucky just revealed where he works to you. Bucky’s steely heather eyes are already boring right into yours when you glance up. Your soul stares at him meaningfully through the windows of your irises, reaching out for Bucky hopefully. 

“The trade ships I most likely  _own_?” Huntington rudely interjects getting increasingly aggravated with how Bucky keeps staring so intently at you. 

“Yes, at the docks.” Bucky repeats for  _you_ making sure  _you_ hear the information. 

 _The docks._ Your heart made an admirable attempt to reincarnate from the ashes still sitting in your rib cage. 

Your lips part slightly as your eyebrows lower, you cock your head to the side a tick in question, making sure you’re interpreting his subtle hint correctly. He smiles weakly at you. The expression doesn’t hold a candle to what you know he can deliver but it’s  _something_ , its a  _confirmation_. 

“The docks,” You repeat in a hush under your breath as you realize he’s giving you the chance to see him again, to prove that you really do want to spend time with him.

Your heart rises like a phoenix from its own ashes. 

A thankful smile of your own grows cautiously on your lips as your body starts booting back up fueled by the hope he’s given you. You can do this, you can survive this life. Bucky wants to see you again. 

“Alright well me and  _my_ Y/n must be off,” Huntington gruffs impatiently, purposefully trying to make you a possession as he fails to understand what’s going on between you two. The silent communication Bucky and you are using is too advanced for Huntington’s insensitive crude mind.  

“It was a pleasure,” Bucky politely dismisses while attempting to hold eye contact with you as Huntington tries to step into your line of sight to block you off from each other.

“For you I’m sure.” Huntington snarks flippantly before forcefully grabbing you by your elbow and hauling you away. 

Bucky’s lip snarls a little at the way Huntington manhandles you and treats you like an object rather than a woman, a  _person_. Steve appears at Bucky’s side having kept an eye on the entire exchange and boils too. 

“What an asshole.” Bucky growls under his breath as he watches you try to glance back secretly over your shoulder at him, before Huntington wrenches you forward, effectively snapping your pretty head on your neck and forcing you to look forwards and away from Bucky. 

Bucky and Steve’s eyes protectively follow you as you get aggressively dragged out of sight. The two Brooklyn brothers stand snarling with their shoulders high against their ears and their hands clenched angrily into fists at their sides. 

 _The docks,_ Your soul clings to those two words, clutches them close, safe, and protected in the locked safe of your heart. 

\--

It’s been a week since he saw you at the festival. Bucky’s hopes are dying faster than he’d like them to as doubt starts creeping in and eventually takes over the monarchy of Bucky’s heart. Doubt is a ruthless ruler. Bucky thinks that maybe he should have been more understanding towards you and that maybe he was too angry, too harsh. I mean after seeing what kind of men your parents set you up with he couldn’t imagine what your home situation was like. Guilt became Doubt’s Queen and they punished him relentlessly side by side. 

Bucky walks alongside Jim and Will to help cart out a heavy crate from the newest arrival when Carter calls at him from across the dock yard. 

“Hey Bucky! You’ve got someone here to see you man!” 

Bucky hollers his thanks and jogs out of the dock yard, assuming the visitor is Steve. He has no one else that comes to visit him during work hours, plus he probably forgot his lunch and Steve’s here to drop it off. It’s happened once or twice before.

When Bucky rounds a corner expecting to see Steve he stalls mid step at the visage before him. You stand there in a long grey-brown airy skirt that comes down to your mid-chins, showing off black kitten pumps, with a coco brown stylish leather belt around your waist that compliments the hunter green of your thin cotton long sleeve shirt  _([something like this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/8a/9b/24/8a9b2496693dad76a5b769f16f333063.jpg))_. The look is topped off with a lovely day hat  _([something like this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ac/9e/2e/ac9e2e701bc4021a52ae8d89f5de7e63.jpg))_. In one hand you carry a casual clutch and in the other two long leather leashes that lead two beautiful large Collies. 

Bucky almost nearly faints. 

He suddenly feels like he’s just walked onto one of those Hollywood film sets. Bucky wonders for a second if he’s hallucinating because surely a thing as beautiful as you doesn’t belong here at the dirty docks in Brooklyn. You catch sight of Bucky standing a few feet outside the entrance to the dock yard and the smile that blooms on your face is iridescent and simply dazzling. 

“Bucky!” You exclaim and make your way hurriedly towards him, your Collies trotting proudly by your side, long fur bouncing in the ocean breeze and tongues out. 

You’re quite frankly overwhelming to Bucky and when you go in to try and hug him and he doges your arms, its not because he doesn’t want to hold you. He watches your joy cut clean in half as you falter back away from him. 

“Oh no!” Bucky blurts out with his hands outstretched towards you, “No doll I, I just don’t wanna get your pretty self all dirty,” He explains in a hurry trying to erase the hurt in your eyes as fast as he possibly can, gesturing wildly to his greasy sweaty shirt and pants. “Would hate to get my filth on you’re nice clothes.” 

You pause as his words digest in your mind before you roll your eyes and throw yourself into his arms anyway. Bucky smashes his eyes close and prays you’re not repulsed by the sweat and smell coating every inch of his skin as you lock your arms around his neck. When he realizes that your still steadfastly hugging him after getting a bit of his sweat onto your fingers that brush through his hair tenderly, he caves and wraps his solid arms around you tight. 

Bucky’s head spins as he allows himself to take you in; how soft and wonderful you feel against him, how delicious you smell, how readily you keep yourself in his arms. His senses drink you in greedily as he absentmindedly notes the Collies noses poking and sniffing around the hugging humans. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner,” You whisper after a long moment of hugging and Bucky having an internal argument with his ill-timed sexual desires that seem to come out of no where, “But I had to think of something smart to excuse myself from my household without a chaperon.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it sugar, you’re here now.” Bucky hushes back and starts to pull away, assuming you wanted a little breathing room from his sweat-slick body and slight stink of ocean and moldy crates. But when you squeeze him tighter when you feel him start to loosen his arms Bucky returns the gesture with a smile and holds you against him a bit longer. 

“I have the whole evening free before I’m expected back,” You inform excitedly as you two eventually pull apart, the dogs now incredibly curious of Bucky as they circle around his feet, noticing how much attention you showed him. They wanted to see what all the fuss was about. 

“That’s wonderful doll, I’m sorry I don’t have a fancy dinner planned or nothin’, you caught me by surprise,” Bucky starts to mumble offering the back of his hand to the dogs to sniff distractedly. 

“I don’t need a fancy dinner Bucky, I just want to spend time with you.” You admit with that rare bashful smile of yours that only seems to make an appearance in Bucky’s presence. 

“I take it these mutts were part of your excuse?” Bucky comments playfully after seeing how genuinely happy you are just to see him again, as he bends down on one knee and let’s the dogs come up and lick his face. 

You smile at that, knowing none of the people in your society would be caught  _dead_ with dog-kiss slobber on their cheeks. 

“Yes, and these  _mutts_ are actually purebred Collies. They were a gift for my tenth birthday.” You correct mock-snootily as Bucky remains on the ground and lets the dogs push at him a little as they happily sniff circles around him, familiarizing themselves with him and memorizing his scent. You struggle to keep their leashes from tangling. 

Bucky glances up sheepishly at your statement but catches the teasing glint in your eye letting him know you’re kidding and not actually offended he called your dogs mutts.

“You’re tenth birthday huh, what’re their names then?” Bucky asks as he lifts up both hands to scratch his fingers on two set’s of eager offered soft heads.

You point to each one, “This is _[Monique](http://dgicdplf3pvka.cloudfront.net/images/dogbreeds/large/Collie.jpg) _and this is [ _Chester_](http://www.infohund.de/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/EMK_8224-01.jpg), they’re sister and brother.” 

“Fancy names for dogs, did you name them?” Bucky chuckles as Monique tucks her head under Bucky’s chin affectionately and licks at his hand when he brings it up to stroke the side of her neck. 

“No my Mother did.” You answer with slightly perused lips.

Bucky catches the strange weird note to your voice and looks up at you from the nest of fur and noses and wet tongues. 

“Weren’t they a gift to you?” He asks a little confused as Chester nudges at Bucky’s other hand, jealous that his sister is getting all the attention. Bucky obliges the dog and rubs behind his ear too.

“Yes, well my mother didn’t want me naming them something unsophisticated or childish, so,” You reply curtly. Sympathy churns in the molten iron of his eyes, imaging how cold and empty your childhood must have been. Quickly trying to get rid of that expression on his face you change the subject. 

“So how much longer are you going to be? I’ll wait right here till you’re done.” 

“No!” Bucky all but shouts as he shoots back up to a standing position eyes wide, startling not just you but the dogs as well. Before you can become hurt again he supplies, “I don’t want ya waitin’ out by yourself, it’ll be dark soon sugar.”

“I have Monique and Chester to keep my company!” You argue as they continue to give their needy attention to Bucky. Bucky delivers a very unconvinced stare and you quickly add, “If anyone tries to give me trouble these two are trained to tear a full grown man apart on my command.” 

You nod your head down at Monique and Chester with an easy smile, watching Bucky eye your dogs a little differently now. You giggle at his expression, 

“Bucky they attack on  _my_ command, not whenever they want to. Anyway you’re too much of a dreamboat, I wouldn’t want to waste all that handsome.” 

Bucky’s gaze flips back to yours and that charming smirk of his that you were so thirsty for starts growing slowly but surely on his lips when you tease him. He squints his eyes dramatically before pointing his finger at you,

“Alright I’ll be done in two hours but you holler if you need anything,” Bucky concedes before turning his attention down to the dogs, “And I’m holding both of ya accountable for the lady, got it?” 

The Collies just smile with wide open mouths and tongues out in that goofy way dogs can. Monique licks Bucky’s finger pointed down at them. 

You both grin at that and when your eyes lift to meet in the space above the dogs heads, you share a moment of pure  _happiness_ , a moment of contentment, that neither of you have felt in ages. Bucky’s eyes twinkle at you in the setting sun of the day, silver steel cutting through the soft glow around them and piercing through your own gaze. Your breathless, on cue. 

He starts to slowly walk backward toward the dock yard entrance with that smile still plastered proudly on his lips. Bucky’s smirk blows out to a full on lopsided grin after a few more steps, 

“How ‘bout a kiss to hold me over?” 

You bite the smile blooming under the snare of your teeth and pretend to think about your answer for a moment. 

“Well I dunno,” You drawl as you slowly make your way to stand before him, Monique and Chester whimpering at your sides and pulling at the end of their leashes to move you faster to him (they’re in love with him already, join the club). “You think you earned it?” You taunt as you stop right in front of him and tilt your head just right, so your gaze winks cheekily out at him from under the low brim of your hat. 

He huffs a laugh, grin not dimming in the slightest as he answers, “I reckon I have.” 

Bucky watches your lips in the curve of your smile and that sparkle glitter in your eyes that he saw in that night at the speakeasy. It feels like that was ages ago. And yet here you both are, the chemistry and energy between the two of you still strong and  _hot_. 

“I reckon you have too,” You agree in a murmur before leaning in nice and slow. 

It’s almost like the air literally thickens around you. Turning the moment into molasses, sweet and slow. You absentmindedly feel the dogs tugging slightly on their leashes, but it does little to pull you from the spell Bucky’s put you under. Your noses brush and you hear Bucky inhale. You let him think you’re going for his lips before dodging at the last minute and giving his grease-smeared cheek a loud gaudy kiss, making a smooching noise and everything. 

Bucky groans loudly in disapproval into your neck as his forehead falls to your shoulder. You laugh at him relishing how natural you two move around each other, how easy it is to touch and be in each other’s space. After a moment you shove him playfully off you, shooing him back towards the dock yard.

“Go on baby, I’ll be waiting for you with a real kiss when you’re done!” You call as he again starts walking backwards towards the entrance. 

He rolls his head away from you after holding heavy,  _loaded_ eye contact before brandishing one of those gigantic smirks of his, and jogs with his back to you through the entrance, shaking his head. 

“You better not be teasin’ dollface! You’ll regret it if you break that promise!” Bucky yells devilishly over his shoulder before disappearing from your sight.  

\--

You’re walking side by side. His arm feels warm and solid linked with yours as you both stroll along the sidewalk. The setting sun put its warm hands against the small of your backs and guides you through Brooklyn to Bucky’s apartment a short distance from the dock yard. 

“I share the apartment with Steve,” Bucky informs you with an easy smile as he looks down at you beside him. “And it’s not a grand place, pretty shabby actually, but it’s home.” 

You return his smile with a grin of your own, continuing to beam softly at him even when he turns his attention back to his front. Bucky’s profile is sharp yet gentle, hard yet kind, dark yet caring. He intrigues you in so many ways its impossible to keep count of them all. His whole being just  _calls_ to you like a giant magnet; the both of you polar opposites but yet so attracted, so pulled to each other it is simply the doing of nature or fate. You didn’t really believe in either of those, but you were desperately trying to find something to describe the quite  _indescribable_ feeling between you two. 

Monique and Chester trotted happily at your side, sniffing like their lives depended on it and peeing on literally everything. They were in new territory as it were. You got a few questioning looks from the people you passed by eyeing your outfit and your dogs like you were an alien. Bucky would notice and wave to them and call their name in a friendly greeting. He knew every single person. It honestly astonished you how much he is known in this poor little neighborhood and how liked he is by everyone. Him being so popular doesn’t surprise you (because who couldn’t  _not_ like Bucky) but the knowing everyone part does. You spent so much time with the same small community, the same narrow minded people (not by choice of course), that you don’t really  _know_ the people in your town. Not in the familiar way Bucky knows his neighbors at least. 

“Well aren’t you the hotsy totsy hotshot,” You tease when you round a corner and Bucky starts to slow your pace to an eventual stop in front of a worn red brick apartment building. 

Bucky chuckles and leads you and the dogs up the chipped concrete steps to the front door, wrangling out his keys from his pocket, “Hey now doll, I ain’t nothin’ of the sort,.” 

“Like hell you aren’t!” Comes your replying banter as he shoves the tiny battered brass key into the lock and swings the door open for you. 

You (unfortunately) unlink your arm from his as you move past the threshold and into a dim lit hallway. If you were being honest the quality of this place was a far  _far_ cry from your usual souped up luxury but you quickly found you didn’t feel unsafe or nervous. Bucky is looking at you, cautiously allowing a grin to color his eyes and pull at his lips. He’s here and that means you’re safe, in good hands. You smile. 

“I assume you don’t live in this hallway?” You say after a moment of Bucky just staring at you, the dogs pulling a little on their leashes as they sniff the place out. 

For half a beat you worry that maybe he does because Bucky remains frozen but then he shakes his head a little and laughs. Your heart starts up again. 

“No ma’am, Steve and I don’t live in the hallway.” Bucky plays back as he jerks his head in the direction of the staircase at the end of the hallway and starts leading you to it. 

“What is with you and Steve callin’ me ma’am,” You grumble halfheartedly under your breath as you climb a metal stairwell and walk down the second landing corridor. 

Bucky halts in front of one of the doors and sticks another brass key in the lock. He clicks the key and pushes into the apartment, holding the door open for you again and swinging a welcoming hand out, gesturing to the interior. You clear your throat and chuck a careless smirk at him as you walk elegantly past him and enter his home. You take in the heaviness in the air, the weight of the constant struggle to live -- survive -- making the atmosphere dense; the walls are a little sad from all the hardships and sickness its seen its owners endure. But despite that there is something undeniably  _familiar_ about the space, something that feels like  _home_ , like  _safe_ , like  _Bucky_. The lack of fancy couches and cashmere curtains actually puts you at ease, assures you that you can let your guard down and be safe and protected while doing it. No one will try to hurt you here. 

Bucky watches you take in his home. Carefully observing the delicate way your eyes caress every chipped dresser corner, peeling bit of wallpaper, slightly splintered hardwood floorboard, the springless cots and the tattered quilts atop them, that weird stain in the corner by the ice box,  _everything_. And instead of seeing concealed distaste in the ever mystical crystal balls of your eyes, Bucky actually is pleasantly surprised to see delight and  _freedom_ sparkle like Steve’s favorite fireworks on Fourth of July in the horizon of your irises. 

Before Bucky can push air against his vocal chords to speak Steve rounds the corner, sketch book held familiarly in lead covered fingers, expecting to greet Bucky on Steve’s way to their small kitchen. The blonde nearly trips himself with his own feet when he spots you and all your glory: outfit, dogs, smile, eyes and all. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims trying to conceal his jump of surprise and scrambling to collect himself as you approach with a wide, toothy, happy grin. 

“Hi Steve, I’m so glad to see you again.” You greet warmly as you don’t think twice about diving down and giving Steve a big hug. Before you pull back you touch your cheek to his with a fake kiss on each side. 

Steve’s frozen by your affectionate hello, not having touched a woman for so long and so intimately (even if he saw you as just his friend) before. The happiness that powers Bucky’s smile as he watches his two favorite people in the world hug like that, is quite literally indestructible. To see you so accepting and caring of Steve seals the deal for him. 

Yep, Bucky has definitely fallen in love with you. And he’s only seen you three times including today. What insanity, what  _beautiful_ insanity. 

“I’m, Y/n, what -- are, you doing here?” Steve crackles out once you’ve pulled away and he’s recovered. 

You wrestle the dogs’ leashes a little as they scramble with tongues out and doggy smiles on their faces for Steve. 

“I managed to escape my house this evening and blasted myself down here as fast as possible. Met up with Bucky at the docks and thought I’d make the most of my time here.” You divulge with a content smile, preening under the approving blue spot light of Steve’s irises. 

You see the genuine elated surprise in his eyes at your presence and how much respect he speaks to you with, like a friend. Dear God you hope you’re worthy enough to be Steve’s friend. 

Steve nods distractedly before being quickly overwhelmed as the dogs win the wrestling match and break for the blonde. They pounce on him with enthusiastic licks and happy curious pawing, a hyper ecstaticness only dogs can manage. He chuckles as Monique and Chester simply hoard him to themselves, taking a particular liking to his gentle hands and kind touches. 

“Wow they really like you pal,” Bucky laughs as he watches your dogs literally claim Steve as theirs, almost push the fella to the ground. 

Steve laughs freely, loudly, carelessly,  _a rare sound_ Bucky notes as his friend tries fruitlessly to calm the eager canines with more petting. You try calling their names and clicking your tongue, snapping your fingers, clapping your hands, but none of it works. The Collies continue to make a giggling Steve very happy. 

“They’ve abandoned me, Steve you stole my dogs!” You declare with mock offence, Steve’s only reaction is to laugh even louder as their fur starts getting caught in Steve’s mouth and sticking to the wool of his clothes. 

The three of you just stand and share this pleasant moment, a moment free of repression, responsibility, expectations,  _reality_. You are happy to temporarily discard the cold evils tapping their foot right outside Bucky’s closed door, waiting to be picked up and carried again, to burden you again. 

“Hey, uh, Y/n? Would you mind if I walked ‘em?” Steve speaks up after a minute, shaking you a little from your bubble. 

You must have missed some sort of silent communication between Steve and Bucky because they both were looking at you for what seemed like final approval. 

You nod, “Of course Steve, of course.” 

As Steve scrambles to get ahold of their leashes Bucky knocks his fisted knuckles playfully into Steve’s shoulder, “Don’t let them run away from ya,”

“Jerk.” Steve states as he opens the front door. 

“Punk.” Bucky responds affectionately as Steve smiles, shakes his head, winks at you, and then leaves. 

The click of the door closing gently behind the blonde echos in the now silent room. Bucky and you slowly drag your eyes back to each other’s, the moment made of molasses and spice. 

“So about that kiss you promised me?” 


	2. The Filtering Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> The click of the door closing gently behind the blonde echos in the now silent room. Bucky and you slowly drag your eyes back to each other’s, the moment made of molasses and spice.
> 
> “So about that kiss you promised me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dolls! I’m so sorry this took so long to post, I know it was originally supposed to be a oneshot but I kinda got sucked into the story so here I am. This is the smutty second part so enjoy and I shall wait nervously for your responses :) xxx

Your breath hitches in the tightness of your throat as Bucky turns the full force of his gaze on you. You writhe beneath your skin under the spotlight of those eyes, feeling unworthy of your place on his stage while also thriving on the simple brilliance of it. You’ve wanted this, that look he’s giving you, for so long you can hardly believe any of this is actually happening. Bucky’s not staring you down and undressing you with his eyes like most men do, no there is a reverence and awe in his irises, a kind of perplexed splendor like he can’t quite believe this is happening either. 

You both take a matching step forward. 

There is a moment of pause in the silence that umbrella’s over both your heads. An invisible force squats carefully between your separated bodies and urges you both closer still. Bucky reaches for you, hand outstretched kind and sure. You don’t hesitate to take the offered calloused palm. Every detail of this moment etches itself into your brain like carvings in soft wood --  _the feel of his skin catching against yours, the smell of ocean and grease in his hair, the gentle puff of air huffing from his parted lips when you draw yourself almost flush to his chest, the warmth of his skin radiating through his dirty shirt when you place your hand on his hard shoulder before slowly sliding it up to cup the side of his neck --_ creating a beautiful display to look back on and cherish. 

“Holy Mary and Joseph,” Bucky whispers to himself as his eyes hop to and fro from each of yours, that same sense of naked  _worship_ in his irises echoing in that deep rustic voice.

Bucky observes how the cautious light crawling through the grimy windows of the apartment seem to collect, gather,  _cling_  to the brightness already harbored in your face. Your eyes soaking up the sun, no matter the thinness and transparency of the rays trickling in. He’s in a state of such simple awe, such elementary wonder. The gravity of this feeling right about scares Bucky senseless, it sends his soul cowering in fear of exposure. How could you, a woman he barely knew, a person other than Steve, possibly garner the ability to  _see him_. I mean  _really see him_. 

This connection he has with you isn’t normal, and Bucky isn’t entirely sure its natural either. He shivers when he comes to the spine freezing fact that he  _doesn’t care._

You were so close now his sigh became your gasp, the air swirling and mixing and humming with this enigmatic energy that buzzes in both of your veins and drags your pupils wide. Your breath shutters as it travels up and down your throat at your proximity to Bucky. Apart from the practically suffocating feeling of suspense and joy at being intimate with him, you can’t ignore the growing pit of fear in your stomach. The instantaneous chemistry and whirlwind jealousy and possessiveness you both have show cased for the other is concerning. Its not  _normal_ , its not  _natural_ \--

You blink and his lips are against yours. 

\-- and  _you don’t care._

Its hard to feel or take notice of much else when the relief at the touch of his lips, warm and firm, on yours casts this fog over your senses. Dousing you with sensation like he’s quite literally pouring something thick and invisible into you, but at the same time its numbing. The edges of reality are fuzzy. The touch of a man’s lips shouldn’t render you practically lame, you should be panicking, but you ignore your survival instincts and press harder into the intoxicating embrace that’s yours to have-take- _indulge_. You’re having more coherent thoughts than Bucky whose mind is only capable of conjuring the color of your eyes in the sun and registering the taste of your lips. When his hands cradling your face like a precious porcelain doll tighten as this moment of passion somehow  _deepens further_ , its like you are yanked back above the surface of a raging ocean surf, everything suddenly over sensitive and exposed and loud and gloriously alive. 

A sound that is too delicate to be categorized as a moan hums in your throat when Bucky’s tongue swipes politely but earnestly at the seam of your lips. You let him in. The act holds meaning that is startling more profound than the simple fact that you are now french kissing with James Barnes. 

Your breathing patterns quicken and become unstable as hands start slipping into hair and  _pulling_. Bucky is the first to actually give a healthy groan. You discover that the short baby hairs at the nape of his neck are a particular hot spot for him, so, with a well earned smugness, you pull again and fist your hand as much as you can in the practical fuzz at the back of his neck. Encouraged by your boldness Bucky retaliates by sliding his hands from their home in your hair lower to grip your waist. 

_Mine_

He yanks you ever closer, if that’s even possible, and drags his hands slow and hard down and around the curve of your hips, sinking his fingers greedily into the healthy globes of your ass. 

You break away from his lips for a half-second, 

“Oh _,”_ You hush into his parted mouth, eyes closed, lashes heavy, eyebrows quirked up in the middle as unforgiving heat pours hot and heavy into your core. 

You can’t help yourself, bless your soul, as you arch your back and press your ass into the merciful pressure of his wide palms and spread fingers even harder and your breasts up against his solid chest. You’ve never in your life been touched like this before, never moved like this --  _moved against someone like this_ \-- before, never been held and cherished. Never been ravished. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” You sigh breathlessly as your hands drop from his neck to grip his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he uses his hands to push your hips steadily against the buck (HAHA I DID A THING) of his own. Now coherent thought abandons  _you_ and your brain is suddenly a white happy blank as the hard line of Bucky’s manhood becomes a burning presence against your lower stomach through the layers of both of your clothing. 

“What is it doll?” Bucky murmurs against your ear as you sag against him. There is concern plucking at the steady strings of Bucky’s voice, making it wobble just a little. 

 _Does she want to stop? Oh fuck did I push too far?_ Bucky thinks nervously, almost shaking with it. 

“I, Bucky I,” You force yourself to open your eyes, your lips brushing against the cleft in his chin, and stare up at the magnificence above you. “I’ve never been touched this way before,” 

The universe freezes. 

Bucky huffs out a shaky breath and his pupils yawn ever wider, “Oh sugar,” 

“We can stop if you want, I’m sorry I’m not experienced -- not what you want,” You begin to ramble, your brain the picture of anarchy and chaos as it scrambles to collect itself in the face of rejection. 

Bucky snatches your chin between two calloused fingers before you can spin anymore into panic, tenderly brushing some hair out of your face with the other. He shakes his head softly,

“I’ll take care of ya doll, and I’m not expectin’ anythin’ more from you than you are willing to give me.” 

Bucky watches the panic and gut twisting self-worthlessness seep from your irises. Only after all that leaves the canvas of your face does he smile at you; not a wide grand gregarious grin, no, more of a soft curve of lips and generous crinkles to frame those eyes of his. It’s private and intimate. You shiver as he strokes a thumb down the arrow of one of your cheekbones. 

“Tell me what you want,” Bucky all but whispers, feeling like if he spoke any louder he’d disturb the atmosphere like a bolt of lightening cracking from a still storm. 

“I want you.” You answer simply in a matching tone, eyes big and innocent. Bucky swears he can see his own goddamn reflection in them.

“Be a little bit more specific darlin’,” He continues while still gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs, “I wanna know your limits, when to stop, to know when we’ve reached the point where you don’t wanna go no further.” 

“Y-You mean do I wanna go all the way or not?” You gulp dryly. 

“Yes, you have to tell me now so its clear and that way I can make sure to respect ya. I don’t wanna make you feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for dollface,” Bucky lays out for you, watching you take in everything he’s saying carefully and thoughtfully. 

You smile at how much of a gentleman he is, how respectful. You have good taste. Your answer materializes on your tongue gently, surely. Out of caution you let the answer sit in your mouth for a few minutes to make sure it doesn’t sour, making sure you weren’t rushing into things or making a decision you would later regret. 

You focus back in on Bucky’s patient adoring face and know that whatever ends up happening with Bucky and you, you won’t --  _can’t_ \-- ever regret him. 

“I want it to be you.” You say in a solid but soft tone. No room for doubt or unsureness in the surprisingly steady chords of your voice. “I know we only have met a couple times, and I don’t  _technically_ know you but...but I, I feel like I --”

“ _Know_ you,” Bucky finishes for you with that same private smile on his lips, cobalt argent irises glowing like a bonfire blazes behind them. 

“Yes, exactly,” You trail off as Bucky leans down and tenderly presses his lips to yours. This kiss is much more chaste than the ones previous but just as profound, “You scare me,” Comes your whispered confession when you pull away for air, lips only inches apart. 

Bucky yanks himself back to frantically check your eyes, to make sure he’s not making you uncomfortable, but before he can misinterpret your words further you lift a hand from his shoulder and cup the side of his neck, running your thumb soothingly along the cliff of his jaw to gain his attention, 

“You scare me because you make me feel things that I highly doubt are healthy, or at least normal. You’re too important to me already,  _too important_. The way we move around each other, the pull in my gut that just,  _God_ it just  _doesn’t relent._  I mean here I am giving you the most private, intimate part of me willingly and without doubt. I should doubt you, I should be doubting  _us_.”

You pause and sigh heavily, guiding his head back down and touching your forehead to his before closing your eyes and whispering, “But I don’t, not even a little bit.” 

“Thank Jesus H. Christ that you’re driven just as insane by this as I am,” Bucky breathes with this rush of relief before stopping any further conversation between you two for awhile by crushing your mouths together. 

He quickly breaks the chastity of the kiss by angling his head and delving his tongue down into the dark heat of your mouth. You let him guide you, since you’re no expert on kissing, and enjoy the learning process. At some point Bucky starts backing you up towards some unseen destination. When you shuffle awkwardly around a corner, lips still sealed, hands gripping or entangled in some way on the other person, you feel the cool press of metal and then the stiffness of a mattress against the back of your knees. 

Bucky leans gently forward so you both fall onto the bed to a harmony of grunts and moans. You ‘oof!’ at one point when too much of Bucky’s weight lands on top of you. 

“Sorry doll!” He exclaims in a slightly nervous very unmanly squeak. 

You giggle and grin at the fact that, despite his experience, he’s as flustered and clumsy as you. Bucky rubs at the spot on your stomach that his elbow had dug into with a ridiculous amount of tenderness and care. With arms outstretched you chuck them happily around his neck and bring his now smirking face back down to meet yours. God, you really couldn’t get enough of kissing Bucky. Whenever you saw people making out in public you always thought it distasteful and that it looked rather a wet slobbery business. But now that you know the full charm of necking you can’t quite get enough of it.  

Bucky’s hands roam anywhere he thinks is appropriate...which is nowhere apparently. 

“Bucky,” You huff breathily when you break apart and glance down at his hands hovering awkwardly near your waist. “You can touch me, please touch me.” 

Bucky visibly shivers. 

“Yeah,” You encourage him as the mask of nervousness on his gorgeous features melts away to reveal an expression of shinning ecstasy. “That’s right, I want you to touch me,” 

Bucky groans and dives to suck a mark at your neck while his hands all but devour you. His hands are magical things; rough and strong from work, wide palms and long sturdy fingers. 

“Don’t leave any marks that I can’t cover baby,” You gasp when you feel teeth nip at the skin drawing from your collarbone to your neck. 

Bucky relents immediately with a whispered ‘sorry love’ and moves lower. You’re a little disappointed that he can’t mark you up, but you would rather die than risk your parents catching you with hickies on your neck. He slowly untucks your blouse and drags the material up your torso with just his fingertips grazing your skin that’s erupting in goose flesh. You squirm beneath him when he leaves your shirt bunched up under your chin and moves to caress his fingers carefully over your expensive aquamarine silk bra, the cups firm and slightly pointed ( _[like this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/fa/13/3d/fa133dac41248fda27bc8eae058972aa.jpg)_ ). 

“Wow, never touched a garment so fine in my life,” Bucky whispers almost to himself before lowering his head to rest on your bosom and rubbing his cheek against the fine softness of the silk. 

You chuckle, feeling his head move up and down with your laughter, and he glances back up at you with a cheeky smirk gracing his face before kissing over each silk covered nipple tenderly, and working the garment off. Once your chest is bare you feel blood rush to color your traitor cheeks. Bucky isn’t at all put off by your display of bashfulness, in fact he only smiles wider,  _fonder_. You catch the peckish glint in his eye as he leans back down and runs the point of his nose under the curve of one of your breasts, making you gasp and thread your fingers through his fringe. Bucky keeps eye contact with you throughout the entire gesture. He stops and presses a kiss just under the swell of the same breast before sucking harshly at the thin sensitive skin. You feel like a match is struck at the place where he is biting and sucking, warmth and zings of electric currents are radiating out from the spot under his merciless lips. Bucky works a deep blue hickey into your yielding skin before leaning back up and swiping the roughness of his fingertips over it. 

You convulse with a violent shiver. 

“Now you’ll feel me all the time even when I’m not with you. You’ll feel me here, right next to your heart and know that I lay claim to it.” He murmurs in this bass claiming tone as he eyes the hickey with a curious possessive glint in that steel sharp gaze of his, before gently starting to manipulate your breasts and nipples with his nimble fingers. 

You delicately keen at his words as your eyes roll up into your head, causing your lashes to fall shut and your fingers to grip his hair harder; proper sentences are lost on you as undiscernible noises now become your only functioning communication tool. 

“Christ you’re so damn beautiful,” You hear him murmur under his breath as he carefully slips you out of the rest of your clothing, folding it all neatly on the bedside desk like the gentleman he is, and then proceeds to rid himself of his wear with decidingly much less care. 

When your eyes open again you are both bare before each other, souls naked and curious sitting in large black pupils staring at the other person. The apartment around them watches over them protectively, keeping out the horrors of reality and guarding these fragile vulnerable new lovers from any ill will that dares to attack them in this safe space.  

They both breathe for a second, taking in what’s happening with continued wonder. 

“We’ll go slow darlin’, alright? I’m gonna warm ya up,” Bucky hushes as he buckles himself down into your warm embrace and settles comfortably between your legs, nuzzling your nose with his before lifting one hand from its previous place cupping your breast. 

He brings his fingers into your view and wiggles them, “I’m gonna use just my fingers and just rub okay? I won’t do nothin’ without tellin’ ya first doll,” 

“Thank you James,” You whisper, hoping he understands how much and what you’re actually thanking him for. And its not just for taking care of you sexually, but mentally as well. Bucky brought color and vitality into your life that you never thought you’d be able to have let alone call your own. 

Bucky stops at the use of his full name, catching the density and meaning behind your words. Blinking in a flurry his lungs hitch with disbelief at the profoundness of it. He feels that flare of fear in his gut again warning him that he’s falling in love too fast. No...he’s  _fallen_ in love, past tense, its already happened, he’s already hooked. 

Instead of responding Bucky leans down and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger a moment longer than he should have allowed and pulls back. With a reassuring smile he drags his hand down to slip between your legs, immediately stilling them when they encounter wet, dripping warm flesh. 

When Bucky looks down at you with slight shock clearing his face of the previous happy heaviness it respectfully carried, and you try to turn away and hide in the pillow he laughs and bends to peck your cheek. He continues to drop little kisses down a twisting path to the corner of your lips, 

“That is  _nothin_ ’ to be embarrassed about doll,” Bucky teases against the corner of your mouth before coaxing your face back to his with more tiny face kisses. When he gazes down at you full on you bite your lip as you feel his fingers circling your engorged bundle of nerves oh so carefully. 

Bucky doesn’t let you look away, he holds your eyes hostage as he continues to work you to a quick and core wrenching orgasm. The eye contact was honestly the sexiest part of it all. You wanted to feel uncomfortable opened up like that, you should have, but you just simply didn’t. It was his, whatever his eyes were devouring and taking in on your face, it was his. 

Your moans carry in the small apartment when you feel white hot euphoria peak then burn and  _sizzle_ through your veins. Bucky shoves his lips against yours and tries his very best to taste the sound and hoard it all for himself. 

Once you come down and Bucky allows you a moments rest, he circles his fingers in the slippery heat of your cunt and hums in throaty approval as he brings his soaked fingers up to his lips. And before you can even ask, he wraps his lips around them and sucks. Your eyes pop open at the erotic sight above you. Never had you thought up something so sensual, you realized there was a lot you were unaware of in terms of pleasure. 

You curiously eye his fingers wrapped tightly in his lips wondering if it tastes as good as Bucky is making it seem. Bucky catches your innocent interest and grins devilishly. 

“Here baby,” He says as he reaches back down, scoops some more of your slick onto his fingers (your breath hitches at the touch of the warm rough fingertips against your sensitive clit) before bringing the digits to hover above your swollen lips. “Wanna try some?” 

You absolutely get set on  _fire_ , mentally and physically because you blush red hot literally everywhere. 

“I couldn’t possibly!” You exclaim trying to sound scandalized rather than disgusted, because you didn’t find Bucky’s actions very disgusting at all. 

Bucky’s smirk grows and he shrugs this awkward one shoulder shrug because he’s leaning most of his weight on one elbow, before saying so nonchalantly, 

“More for me then,” and moves his fingers towards his mouth again. 

“Wait!” You hiss stubbornly, grabbing at his fine but muscled wrist to stop him. 

Bucky’s cheshire smirk stays put. 

You roll your eyes at his triumphant expression but slowly pull his hand down so his fingers ever so gently brush your lips. Your slick is cold now against the warm plush of your kiss bitten lips, but you watch his eyes (smirk gone and replaced with turned on disbelief) as you easily wrap your lips around the long digits and give a good mighty suck. 

Bucky moans the loudest he has so far as your tongue and mouth works over his fingers. You taste the tart saltiness of your slick against his skin suddenly feeling so powerful, so sure of yourself, so bold. Experimentally you hollow your cheeks and curl your tongue around the circumference of his fingers, twisting your neck just so as you bob up once then force his fingers back down your throat --

Bucky suddenly wrenches his fingers free of the snare of your lips and squeezes that same wet hand tightly around his cock. 

Shocked, you sit up with him and watch with confusion as he doesn’t move his hand around his dick but just holds it there tight in an unforgiving fist. You cock your head to the side a little as you look down at his lap and watch the large appendage go practically purple. Bucky’s eyes are squeezed shut, teeth grit, some kind of effort is being made right now and you just don’t know why or for what. 

“Isn’t that uncomfortable sugar?” You murmur with slight concern as you lean down a little and circle the tip of your pointer finger curiously around and under the firm raised edge of the head.

“FUCK!” The volume of Bucky’s cry startles you so much you jump almost a foot off the bed. 

The only thing that keeps you down on the small twin cot is Bucky’s free hand that comes out of nowhere and grips the back your neck, hauling your foreheads together a little painfully, before pearly white streams start shooting in thick generous spurts from the purple-y redness of his dick. As he comes Bucky huffs shallowly and loudly against your lips as his fist around his cock moves now in practically a blur. You only now realize what he was trying to do (hold off from coming, wow you’re an idiot) and feel slightly guilty but mostly ridiculously aroused. The sight of Bucky coming -- and caught off guard for that matter -- is  _stunning_ , you never thought it would be this way. 

You had fantasized about having sex as often as the next person, but never could you have predicted the intimacy of it, the fire, the  _burning_ and  _yearning_ to claim a body and soul that’s been offered to you like a gift. And here Bucky is, forehead pressed to yours, practically coming in your lap. A foreign new reflex snaps in your brain and you cup your hands in front of the head of his dick to catch the cum spiting from the member. 

Bucky sees you move your hands and nearly whites out as he moans, pushing his lips sloppily to yours. You smile under the pleasant happy pressure and hum back. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me baby doll,” Bucky breathes hoarsely when he’s come down some and the chill in the air starts to break through the bubble of warmth and orgasms. 

You giggle at his ridiculousness and pull back so you can look him in the eyes. A smile graces your lips, earning you a returned post-orgasmic fuzzy grin from Bucky, and you glance down at your still cupped fingers. You ended up catching most of it, actually. You feel oddly proud about that. The white warm strings glint wetly in the light of the rising moon now peaking through the windows. 

Without warning Bucky, you lift one shy finger to your lips, stick out your tongue and lick a bit off. You almost put poor Bucky into cardiac arrest, he feels the need to have  _another_ orgasm  _right the fuck now_ even though he just literally came. 

“It’s bitter and salty,” You comment hysterically innocent, like you were taste testing some favorite dish of yours, “but I like it,”

Bucky attempts to shake himself back into at least a semi functioning mode and raises a curious, kind of smug, eyebrow at you, “You do?” 

“Well,” At his words you blush again and blink shyly down into your lap (which doesn’t really help because both of your hands full of Bucky’s come lay there) to avoid Bucky’s gaze, but eventually your bravery wins out and you look up, “Mainly -- mainly because it’s yours,” 

This time Bucky is quite sure he felt his heart seize and tremor. Yep, he’s gone and already buried six feet under. 

You observe the arrangement of many emotions on Bucky’s face, not sure how to decode it all and where to start but Bucky speaks. 

“Don’t go sayin’ things like that baby, my poor heart ain’t strong enough.” He gets up and you start to panic before you see him retrieve a handkerchief from his discarded pants pocket on the ground, trots to the kitchen to hastily wet it, and returns to kneel down on the cot beside you. 

He takes your hands tenderly into his own and starts methodically wiping them clean. You keep your eyes on Bucky’s down turned ones focusing on your hands. Christ this moment shouldn’t be sexy and precious but it  _is_. You give up on trying to question it, this, him, you,  _us_. Watching him you just smile and sparkle like a brand new star in the cool room wrapped in the private blanket of night. A thought suddenly breaks your calm,

“I know we were supposed to um, go all the way, I’m sorr--”

Bucky’s lips were against yours before you could finish your absolutely unnecessary apology. His hands now held yours tight, soiled handkerchief discarded to the floor. When he breaks away from you he cups your face in those calloused palms of his. 

“What you gave me tonight was just as precious, darlin’,” Bucky murmurs so dearly and sincerely, pecking your nose before pulling you down to curl into his side as you lay naked on the small cot clutching to each other tight. 

“Thank you Bucky, but, I-I  _want_ to give you all of it.” The ‘ _all of me_ ’ bit unsaid but you had a sneaking suspicion Bucky heard it clearly. 

From the glow of the moon filtering in to paint a milky slash across the canvas of your pressed together bodies, you knew you would have to leave soon. Your Daddy wouldn’t tolerate tardiness even for an extended curfew. 

You both sigh heavily, Bucky seeming to have read your mind. You slide your hand over his chest, feeling the sparce chest hair there, and press your palm warm and sure over where his heart beats below, trying to kick its way out of his chest and into your worthy hand. 

“I’ll come back to you James Barnes.” 

The ‘ _I always will’_ bit unsaid but you had a sneaking suspicion Bucky heard it clearly. Plus, you think you heard his responding ‘ _You better_ ’ clearly too.  

\--

Somewhere down the street, a scrawny blonde young man walks two gorgeous collies in the moonlight. He smiles at the stars and shakes his head at the twisted joke the cosmos had laid before him. 

\--

**Current Day**

Bucky’s eyes open to -- mainly Steve’s anxious face, but to the white airy room of T’Challa’s lab where he’s been under for who knows how long. 

“Steve?” Bucky (or the remnants of him, Bucky isn’t  _Bucky_  but he’s something in between) manages to gravel out of a hoarse unused throat. 

Steve’s smile beams so wide it almost knocks Bucky back as he helps Bucky out of the glass tomb and sits him down on a nearby bench. A memory of a tiny, skinny Steve showcasing the same rare joyous smile zings through Bucky’s brain, making it throb painfully. T’Challa is out, but his staff bumble and fuss good naturedly over Bucky as Steve over sees the waking up process. 

About 20 minutes goes by before the staff conclude that Bucky is okay and stable (well physically at least). Steve’s about to inform Bucky that he had found a way to help Bucky get rid of the Hydra in his head, but Bucky speaks up first. 

“ _Y/n_...where’s, Steve where’s my wife?” 

Steve’s heart seizes then freezes over before shattering into frozen red shards, stabbing unforgivingly into his ribcage and lungs. His immense mourning must show on his face because Bucky’s face crumples too and he drops his head in his hands, long hair curtaining the raw,  _savage_ pain behind it. 

“Oh Buck,” Steve tries to say but his voice waivers then violently cracks under the weight of tears. 

Usually Steve can keep his mourning and pain under wraps but Bucky just caught him so off guard. Steve just wasn’t expecting it, Bucky hadn’t mentioned  _Her_ all throughout being on the run from Tony and the government. Not once. Steve was expecting he might finally bring  _Her_ up when he strangely brought up Dot and other insignificant double dates before Y/n happened to Bucky, but he didn’t. Steve decided not to bring  _Her_ up as they were about to sneak into a warehouse full of other Winter Soldiers, so. 

The deepest and most dear memories Bucky had, had been repressed and ruined, and fury had flamed hot and bright in Steve’s heart at the realization that Hydra somehow not only took him away from Bucky, but took  _Her_ away from him too. Steve had cried the second he was completely alone. 

But Steve cries now too as he watches Bucky, not a full hour out of cyro, reduced to misery once more. Steve scoots closer to his brother in arms and cautiously wraps a thick warm arm over his sagging unnaturally broad metal and flesh shoulders. They heave in a cruel silent sob when Steve rests the limb fully against the cold shelf of metal skin and bone. Steve’s comfort and touch gives Bucky permission and unjudged privacy to express his agony. Bucky tips his head so its presses against Steve’s and the two sit there and just...cry. 

“God I love her,” Bucky hitches out between quiet exhausted heaves of his chest, his voice sounding like it was dragged through hell. Which Bucky actually was. 

Steve just holds him tighter and grits his teeth against another renewed wave of agony when he realizes Bucky said “love” not “loved”. The memory of witnessing Y/n Y/l/n --  _wearing a causal white dress, hastily bought cheap veil floating over her pretty face, showcasing the biggest goddamn smile Steve had ever seen_ \-- change her name to Y/n Barnes as his two best friends eloped in the local rundown town church, decides to pop up to add some more gusto to Steve’s tears. 

“I know Bucky, I know.” 

“You did too, I think.” Bucky adds surprisingly, tone sure but broken.

Steve squishes his eyes close and can’t stop his sturdy chin from trembling, “I love both of you like family, Buck.” 

Steve couldn’t help but use “love” not “loved” as well. 

Bucky’s only flesh arm reaches stiffly to wrap around Steve’s unnaturally wide torso in silent recognition of Steve’s pain, offering a returning gesture of comfort saying ‘ _I’m here for you’_. They both sit and surrender to the inexorable sorrow together, much like they always have, and help each other wade through the storm. Y/n on the other side of the thin veil that separates the living from the dead, reaches out for them -- the two people  _stolen_ from her -- and waits. 

She’ll wait for them, wait to welcome them home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so hi sorry that took forever to post! And I know I added in some angst (sorry not sorry) but its just habit lol. What did you think? Good? Bad? Let me know if you want more or whatever :) xxx

**Author's Note:**

> So that’s part one! What’d you think?? And yes yes yes I know I’m evil, yes I know this was supposed to be a oneshot. But I’m posting the smut in the next part because...well just because :) I love you all and I’m sorry for not posting in awhile, my life’s been a trainwreck lol xxx


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